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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23649169">Not Your Sweetling</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lioness47/pseuds/lioness47'>lioness47</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angry Sex, Angst, Barely Legal, Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack, Dark Crack, Dom/sub Play, Drunken Flirting, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hijinks &amp; Shenanigans, Hurt/Comfort, Light daddy kink, Love/Hate, Mafia/James Bond Undertones, Past Rape/Non-con, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shameless Smut, Spanking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:07:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>57,536</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23649169</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lioness47/pseuds/lioness47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t invite guests into my home, sweetling.”</p><p><em>Indeed,</em> Petyr thought, <em> if anyone got curious and asked for a tour, they’d be shocked when they found the little “playroom.”</em></p><p>“You invited me to stay. Aren’t I your guest Petyr?”</p><p>He rubbed his beard. <em>What was she?</em></p><p>Dodging the question, he instead replied with her status, officially. </p><p>“You’re my hostage.”</p><p>The implication of that word sounded even more suggestive.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>168</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>114</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a total crackfic. I can only reason that the quarantine has driven me to these lengths. </p><p>This is also part crossover (not in a particular world, but in terms of genre.) It relies heavily on a trope, which is kind of sad if you think about it (both the trope itself and my reliance on it - ha!) This story takes place in an AU that is part modern Westeros, part actual world. </p><p>Really, though - this might look normal on the first chapter, but this story has a WTF moment and goes off the rails, fast. It requires suspension of disbelief and a just-go-with-it attitude. Please don't be disappointed, I can't warn enough. </p><p>(Also, I will update tags as I go as I try very hard to include every possible trigger, always. This story will be slow to update.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Ow,” Sansa protested. The hempen bite of rope dug into her wrists, now trapped behind her back. Petyr tied a godsdamn tight knot.</p><p>“Can’t I have a gun?”</p><p>“You don’t know how to use one, you’d just as likely shoot yourself,” he chided, coming to stand in front of her. “Besides, we can’t have you holding a weapon. You’re the bait, sweetling.”</p><p>Sansa bit her lip, looking up through her lashes.</p><p><em>“Jail</em> bait?”</p><p>The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. <em>Too bold,</em> she admonished, coloring.</p><p>But they had been flirting since Petyr began hiding her, she was sure of it. <em>Okay, maybe not since the beginning, </em>but… she was positive his gaze lingered on her legs when she’d worn that short cover-up by the pool the other day, and his hands stayed too long upon her neck, when he’d helped her unbutton the back of her dress in the evening.</p><p>That had to mean something, didn’t it?</p><p>Petyr ran his tongue over his teeth, grinning and shaking his head slowly.</p><p>He was several years older than the boys she usually liked - <em>boy </em>wasn’t even the word for Petyr – but there was something electric sparking between them, Sansa <em>felt </em>it. Besides, he’d saved her from the Lannisters and he was risking his life to help her now.</p><p>Petyr cast his eyes downward. Kneeling, he took the hem of her black skirt between his hands. Sansa’s pulse raced as his fingers grazed her thighs. Fisting the material on either side of the short slit, Petyr gave a firm tug. Sansa gasped, then laughed. He tore, ripping the demure slit further up her leg.</p><p>Scrunching her lips to the side, Sansa gave Petyr a pointed look.</p><p>He raised his eyebrows playfully, shamelessly.</p><p>“More plausible this way,” he lied through his teeth in quite the business-like tone.</p><p>“Really?” Sansa asked, feigning boredom, though her heart raced. “Should we unbutton my shirt a bit as well?”</p><p>She wore a short-sleeved, white shirt over the black skirt. Paired with black ballet flats it put her almost equal in height to Petyr. He too wore a collared shirt, sleeves rolled up, with dark gray trousers and a pair of aviator sunglasses tucked into the neck of his shirt.</p><p>He looked very kissable.</p><p>Sansa licked her lips.</p><p>“Maybe just one button,” Petyr suggested, voice turning up at the end.</p><p><em>Gods, he was definitely flirting,</em> Sansa thought, wildly. <em>At a time like this.</em></p><p>Petyr reached her neck and un-did the top button, which, even Sansa had to admit, was rather prissy of her to close and unwise in this heat. </p><p>His hands moved upwards, cupping her face, sending her heart <em>speeding.</em> Petyr pinned her with his stare, thumb stroking her cheek.</p><p>Was he going to kiss her? Sansa couldn’t stop him if she wanted to – her hands were tied – and oh, <em>she didn’t want to.</em></p><p>Petyr took her mouth in his and thank the gods he held her up, because her knees buckled at his expert kiss.</p><p>Wobbly, Sansa forgot about the dire risk of what they were about to do. The world faded beyond Petyr and his tongue exploring her mouth.</p><p>When he pulled back, thought slowly returned.</p><p>
  <em>Gods, we’ve just kissed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Our first, but not our last. I hope. </em>
</p><p>And-</p><p>
  <em>Leave it to Petyr Baelish to finally kiss me when my hands are tied, right before we face potential mortal peril. </em>
</p><p>He searched her face, but neither of them said a word.</p><p>Finally, Petyr broke the silence.</p><p>“Ready?” he asked, one eyebrow cocked.</p><p>Sansa nodded, not trusting herself to speak.</p><p><em>Please let this work,</em> she prayed, heart still pounding. She had so many reasons to live, now more than ever. </p><p>#</p><p>The warehouses by the docks, half-abandoned on the outskirts of King’s Landing, sprawled before them: a wasteland of steaming concrete and asphalt. The forecast had been incorrect. Not a cloud graced the sky and the summer sun beat down relentlessly. It was the kind of heat where kids tried to boil an egg on the street. Not even the bay offered the mercy of an ocean breeze.  </p><p>Petyr didn’t like it. He wasn’t an expert sharpshooter and wasn’t familiar with any variables it might pose. Would there be a glare? Would the haze coming off the blacktop impede aim?</p><p>He’d have to fully trust the professional, and Petyr didn’t like fully trusting anyone but himself.</p><p>Although Sansa Stark, leaning against him in the back of the beat-up old van, might be an exception.</p><p>She stared ahead, her expression betraying no emotion. Usually, he’d approve. She was learning.  </p><p>Now, however, a healthy dose of fear across her face would be essential.</p><p>He leaned over, placing a kiss on the side of her head.</p><p>“I need you to trust me, sweetling. Do you trust me?”</p><p>Sansa turned to meet his eyes, unblinking. She nodded.</p><p>“I won’t let anything happen to you.” He crooked a lopsided smirk. “But might you look as if you worry I will?”</p><p>Her own face broke into a nervous smile in return.</p><p>With a tear, he ripped a piece of masking tape from the roll and covered Sansa’s mouth. Dontos Hollard abruptly hit the breaks and parked, nearly toppling them over as they jerked to a stop. Petyr sighed through his nose.</p><p>
  <em>At least the fool got us here in one piece. </em>
</p><p>Dontos labored out of the front seat of the vehicle, neglected to shut the door, and walked around back. When the rear doors of the van flung open, Petyr grabbed Sansa’s arm and pulled her out into the lot.</p><p>Joffrey’s men were already waiting.</p><p>Next to an attention-grabbing Hummer limousine, no less.</p><p>Idiots.</p><p>#</p><p>“There’s the little bird,” Sandor drawled.</p><p>His voice was deep and low, with a note of leery fascination, forcing Petyr to suppress a grimace of disgust.</p><p>“Caught, caged, and delivered as promised,” Petyr replied, with such a formal air it was as if he bowed as he spoke.</p><p>Playing her part, Sansa struggled against his grip on her arm, cries muffled beneath the tape.</p><p>“And the fee? Are you in possession of Joffrey’s payment?” Petyr asked, though he knew full well the little shit would drag out his end of the deal. He just needed to keep Joffrey’s dog talking.</p><p>Long enough for Lothor to plant a locator on his vehicle. Without being seen by whoever drove the car – a man Petyr could not glimpse through the tinted windows.</p><p>“Says you’ll get it tomorrow,” Sandor dismissed.</p><p>“Well,” Petyr replied, this time actually giving a slight bow of his head, “if Joffrey says he’ll deliver it tomorrow, I’m sure the young king is good for his word.”</p><p>Sandor’s only reply was a grunt.</p><p>When the Lannister bodyguard advanced to take Sansa, she thrashed more than ever.</p><p>And the first bullet flew.</p><p>Everyone ducked, necks craning in open panic to find the source of the gunfire, while another shot ricocheted off the ground.</p><p>Sandor ran for cover – not by an open car door as they suspected, but even better - right by the barrels.</p><p>At the same time, the third shot hit Dontos, standing just a few feet to Petyr and Sansa’s right.</p><p>Sansa saw the ruddy man go down, and Petyr heard her muffled screams. Instinctively, he held her tighter, half his body sheltering hers.</p><p>His attention was riveted by the sudden <em>boom.</em>  </p><p>Right on cue, the bullets hit the barrels, sending them up into wild flames.</p><p>Ignoring the threat of gunfire, Sandor jumped and ran back to his car.</p><p>“Go, go!” Petyr heard the bodyguard shout, as he dove into his limo.</p><p>Petyr made a show of following suit, pulling Sansa back into their own van, before Joffrey’s men drove out of sight. He hastily thrust Sansa in and across to the passenger seat. As he climbed in behind her, he heard Lothor Brune sneak in the back.</p><p>Petyr looked up, meeting Lothor’s eyes in the rearview mirror. The nod he received told him he’d done what he needed.</p><p>Beside Petyr, Sansa was nearly screaming beneath her gag. He buckled her in and ripped the tape from her mouth.</p><p>“He’s dead! He’s dead!” she cried. “Dontos is dead!”</p><p>Petyr said nothing, only hardened his expression as he started the car. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Sansa’s face turn from grief, to shock, as understanding came.</p><p>“You… killed him?” she sputtered. “But… he helped us… he’s been… coordinating this meeting with the Lannisters…”</p><p>Petyr shook his head, stepping on the pedal and quickly turning the car out of the lot. He drove away at such a breakneck speed, even Lothor couldn’t keep balance, and tumbled in the back. Sansa stared at the dead body as they fled, chest rising and falling with heaving breaths.</p><p>“He helped me because I paid him well,” Petyr said. “But he drinks away his money. How long until he searched for another source of income? By blackmailing me or betraying me to the Lannisters? He’s a drunk and a fool and I don’t trust drunk fools.”</p><p>Sansa was quiet for a moment, staring out the window. Then she turned to Petyr and whispered, “that may be true but… you needed one of our own to die.”</p><p>Petyr didn’t take his eyes off the road, but one side of his mouth turned up in a nonchalant smirk, confirming her suspicions.</p><p>Gods, he shocked her. Even when Sansa thought she knew him, he would do something she’d consider him incapable of, without any regret.</p><p>She could hardly believe the truth of the words, even as she spoke them.</p><p>“It’s more plausible this way,” she surmised, “losing your own man in the attack. Throwing off suspicion. Maybe he’ll even take the fall for leaking the deal in the first place.”</p><p>She watched Petyr’s profile for confirmation. His smirk titled higher, just a hair. But Sansa could tell.</p><p>Petyr roused within her a confounding and indivisible mixture of feeling both safe and in danger, at the same time.</p><p>What puzzled her more was, she got the sense he knew, and enjoyed it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A couple of things:</p><p>1) Turns out I'm incapable of writing vanilla without turning in into something filthy when Petyr is involved<br/>2) Sansa and Petyr are slightly misaligned, I know<br/>3) This is the end of normalcy. If you want sweet and reasonable only, stop after this chapter. Perhaps even before the end. This isn't a serious fic, meant to be read with serious investment. It's just a way to pass the time in quarantine and will crash in the next chapter, before picking up again on a very angsty track.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“We got him.”</p><p>Lothor stepped into Petyr’s office as he relayed the news. Less than two hours had passed since they fled the docks.</p><p>“An old hunting lodge in the Kingswood,” Lothor said.</p><p>“Set up surveillance,” Petyr ordered, blinking, but never taking his eyes off the terrace pool.</p><p>“Already on it, boss.”</p><p>When Brune departed, Petyr returned to giving Sansa his full attention. Not that he had hers. With the glare, she wouldn’t be able to see inside the floor-to-ceiling windows.</p><p>Her auburn head had just reappeared, bobbing in and out of his vision as she swam the length of the infinity pool, overlooking the skyline. The afternoon sun continued to punish, and normally he would have forbidden her to be outside at such an hour, her pale skin surely bearing a burn later.</p><p>So <em>trusting, </em>so dutiful -- despite what she’d been through – Sansa would listen to him if he disallowed it.</p><p>Petyr said nothing, only followed her with his eyes. After the morning’s events, she wanted the water. Even in this short time, he knew her.</p><p>Half fish, the Tully girl sought the suspended bliss of water whenever she needed to release tension. That, or the wolf in her craved a woodland romp, which wasn’t an option on the thirty-second flight.</p><p>Though not the tallest, his penthouse was more extravagant than any other condo in King’s Landing. Because it hadn’t originally been designed as a condo. His building began life as a boutique hotel, meant to cater to visiting dignitaries, rulers from across the Narrow Sea, bankers from Braavos. But when the financier ran out of money, Petyr swooped in, buying the place for nickels on the dime.</p><p>With a good bit of remodeling, he set himself up at the top. What was once meant to be a pool, garden, and dining space for hotel guests, became the second floor of his private, two-story suite.</p><p>Petyr didn’t need that much space for large meals, so he’d turned half the seating area into a park-like setting, planting shrubs and expanding the low, formal gardens into an area shaded by tall trees – dogwoods and others he couldn’t name. It wasn’t his idea; he preferred something with stark, modern lines. But his landscape designer had been so <em>persuasive </em>looking up from between his bare legs, that he figured he’d give it a try. He could always rip it out later.</p><p>Under the circumstances, he was pleased with its design, because whenever Sansa wasn’t in the pool, she sat beneath the trees. Sometimes she even brought their meals there, to picnic -- though perfectly suitable tables stood nearby, where he didn’t have to sully his trousers to dine.</p><p>She was so <em>young.</em></p><p>“You should have a vegetable garden,” Sansa told him, just the other night. At his raised eyebrows, she argued, “it’s chic! You can grow your own lettuce and tomatoes, and pluck them right from the vine, and impress guests with a salad you grew yourself.”</p><p>“I don’t invite guests into my home, sweetling.”</p><p><em>Indeed, </em>Petyr thought,<em> if anyone got curious and asked for a tour, they’d be shocked when they found the little “playroom.”</em></p><p>“You invited me to stay. Aren’t I your guest Petyr?”</p><p>He rubbed his beard. What<em> was</em> she?</p><p>Dodging the question, he instead replied with her status, officially.</p><p>“You’re my hostage.”</p><p>The implication of that word sounded even more suggestive.</p><p>#</p><p>“Her,” Petyr said, pointing at the surveillance of a woman entering Joffrey’s hideout. “I know that one.”</p><p>He leaned back in his chair, tugging his lip.</p><p>Lady Stokeworth of Stokeworth Soirees. An insipid name, but the party planning company did exceedingly well for its catering branch. The social-climber long had her eye on Petyr as a potential suitor for her equally insipid daughter. Not to mention, the Stokeworths were known for frequently shifting allegiance.</p><p>What might Lady Stokeworth be discussing with Joffrey Baratheon?</p><p>Petyr retrieved his cellphone from the desk, tapping the number he never thought he’d willingly dial <em>out.</em></p><p><em>"My Lady Stokeworth,”</em> he drawled in dulcet tones, when she answered on the first ring.</p><p>#</p><p>Petyr and Sansa watched the jumpy video feed inside Joffrey’s lodge, from the safety of Petyr’s home-office.</p><p>Fucking unbelievable.</p><p>After all the effort he had gone through in finding where Cersei had secured her son, he’d need only to wait another week until the boy-king grew bored and made his whereabouts known without Petyr having to lift a finger.</p><p>Although it did present a prime opportunity.</p><p>Only a shit like Joffrey would plan a soirée when he was meant to be laying low, waiting out the threat from the Baratheon brothers, Stannis and Renly, who openly vied for his title in a manner that threatened to expose the very existence of their secret society.</p><p>Petyr scrunched his lips, in thought.</p><p>Truthfully, he’d done more than track Sandor’s vehicle.</p><p>Letting the Lannister boy know he had the Stark girl gained him another measure of confidence and trust, diminished only slightly by Dontos’s apparent loose lips. Petyr’s mind never failed to play through the potential of all angles… including if he’d given Sansa up. Though now that he decided to keep her… what to do with her?</p><p>Sansa, wide-eyed, scooted to edge of her literal seat as she watched the surveillance. Petyr sat back, sipping a Johnny Walker Blue, neat. Regrettably, he’d developed a taste for scotch, despite his Irish heritage.</p><p><em>It’s generally advantageous to have flexible loyalties,</em> he mused.</p><p>Though such a condition wouldn’t likely benefit Lady Stokeworth.</p><p>The video came from a discreet camera on the uppermost shirt button of the server with a small, silver tray. <em>His sharpshooter.</em> The man had grumbled about being tasked with posing as a cater-waiter, serving a poisoned jello shot.</p><p>He shut his mouth quickly enough when Petyr told him how much he would pay.</p><p>The most delightful part their plan was the party itself, and Petyr couldn’t even take credit.</p><p>Pieces, not just players, had wills of their own and in Joffrey’s case, Petyr couldn’t have asked for better folly.</p><p>The poison would take an hour or so, during which time Joffrey was sure to eat and drink many other Stokeworth delights; during which time incalculable guests would enter and leave the premises.</p><p>The boy was a dangerous fool. Petyr did everyone a favor, not just the sweet-faced redhead beside him.</p><p>Lady Stokeworth, of course, remained ignorant. She couldn’t do background checks on every cook, valet, server and <em>escort </em>entering the grounds that night. Especially when working through multiple subcontractors.</p><p>Not that Cersei wouldn’t blame her, regardless.</p><p>Which wasn’t Petyr’s problem.</p><p>Petyr’s man approached the young king, artfully turning the silver platter to proffer the tainted cup.</p><p>He heard Sansa suck in a breath as she watched Joffrey pick up the gelatinous green shooter. The boy-king paused, grandstanding. As if tossing back a drink were worthy of praise, attention. But even Petyr held his breath at that moment, though his eyes narrowed and his smirk spread.</p><p>With a dramatic tilt of his head, Joffrey swallowed the poisoned concoction in one gulp.</p><p>Sansa exhaled, deeply, and her tense shoulders visibly relaxed -- months of fear melting away. She turned to face Petyr, mouth breaking into a wide smile.</p><p>“It’s done,” she whispered, almost as if to convince herself.</p><p>She’d been living in fear since she escaped the Lannisters. Never knowing if Joffrey still planned on forcing her to marry him or if Margaery Tyrell had turned his eye, and he wanted to recapture Sansa only to keep as his favorite prisoner to torment.</p><p>Sansa remained in a hellish limbo, as she’d been ever since the death of her parents. Everyone suspected Joffrey ordered the dual murder, though none of the houses had any proof, and all were compelled to follow Joffrey’s rule either way.</p><p><em>The Great Houses of Westeros,</em> they were known, only to themselves. Outsiders might catch glimpses, hear rumors. Part illuminati, part Skull and Bones, part underground mafia. Information never made it very far, or very accurately, before someone put a stopper in the leak.</p><p>
  <em>The first rule of Westeros is you don’t talk about Westeros. </em>
</p><p>“It’s really done,” Sansa said, stronger this time. “Oh, Petyr. Petyr!”</p><p>Standing above her, he pulled the bottle of Dom from the ice bucket.</p><p>“I believe a celebration is in order.”  </p><p>#</p><p>“It’s the bubbles,” she giggled, pulling the sting of her bikini top. “They quicken the effect of the alcohol.”</p><p>Petyr certainly wasn’t going stop her, even if she was partially drunk. She had enough self-awareness to comment on her condition, after all. She was cognizant enough to willfully decide to tug that little string of her teal bikini and pull it from her neck.</p><p><em>Fuck.</em> Like a boy, Petyr was already hard. Not just interested or intrigued, as he’d been with the last girl.</p><p>Painfully engorged.</p><p>He couldn’t see her breasts, but when she tugged her bottoms down and her rear came fully into view, his cock twitched.</p><p>Like a temptress, she dove into the pool, lightly. It wasn’t very deep, after all.</p><p>Sansa giggled again as her head emerged, and Petyr briefly wondered if she laughed at him, because he must have looked like a man possessed. He hadn’t even realized his own hands were tugging off his clothing, flinging it, until he stood naked before her.</p><p>She stopped laughing when she stared at his cock, fully erect. The heat, from lust or innocence or both, colored her cheeks.</p><p>He cocked a diabolical grin before sliding into the pool, clearly intent on lunging after her. Sansa shrieked and paddled away. Wanting him, but perhaps a bit frightened by him?</p><p>Petyr easily caught her by the waist, yanking Sansa back and pulling her against his chest. He spun her around to face him.</p><p>“Let me go!” she cried, laughing. But her smooth, long legs found his hips, encircling him and locking at the ankles.</p><p>Petyr kissed her, tasting the brine of his salt-water pool on her lips, as if they swam in the ocean. Sansa hummed into his mouth when Petyr ground his cock harder against her pubic bone. But the water wasn’t right, wouldn’t provide the friction and leverage he wanted.  </p><p>Moving toward the steps he carried her out of the water, still attached to his waist. As they emerged he stumbled on his first step from the champagne, from the change in bearing her full weight, but he found his way to the nearest lounge chair.</p><p>Wide blue eyes stared up at him as he laid her down and slid his body, slick and slippery, on top of hers.</p><p>He wanted to touch her slowly, to take his time, but <em>fuck,</em> he couldn’t. Next time. He’d be ready for another round – maybe two – later that night. Now, he just needed to be inside her.</p><p>Petyr brought his hand to her cunt, making sure she was ready, wet with her own juices and not the salt water.</p><p>“Petyr,” Sansa moaned when he touched her. She rolled her hips in an attempt to hump his hand that surprised and pleased him.</p><p>Altering course, he slid his fingers further inside to bring her more pleasure.</p><p>He stopped.</p><p>Rather, something stopped him. </p><p>“What is it?” Sansa asked, suddenly timid once more.</p><p>He searched her face but did not need to voice the question.</p><p>Sansa blushed prettily she as lowered her lashes, droplets of water pooling at the ends. She grinned, biting her lip.</p><p>Petyr licked his own lips.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck. </em>
</p><p>Could he deflower her in this condition?</p><p><em>Fuck.</em> The idea of taking her virginity made him even harder, shot through and reverberated around his chest with an animalistic pride.</p><p>He could.</p><p>But not here.  </p><p>“Come. Let’s go back to the bedroom.”</p><p>“No!” Sansa protested, grabbing his shoulders with such force he was taken aback.</p><p>“Here, Petyr. This is what I want. You. Right here. Under the moon. By the water, by the fire.” She referred to the electric pits running the length of one side of the pool.</p><p>The conviction in her tone told Petyr she knew exactly what she was saying.</p><p>And who was he to deny a lady’s wishes?</p><p>His hand found her cunt again and Sansa threw her head back as he inserted two fingers into her this time, pumping in and out faster and faster, curling them to hit the right spot. When he’d sufficiently readied her, he leaned down to her ear.</p><p>“I’m going to fuck you now, sweetling.”</p><p>He hoped he didn’t scare her. Frenzied lust raced through his veins. He couldn’t stop if he wanted to, couldn’t hold back the mischief in his words as he whispered. Oh, the terrible, naughty things he wanted to do to her.</p><p>He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. But he did.</p><p>“I’m going to fuck you and it’s going to hurt,” he said, rutting against her thigh. “But only for a moment. The sooner you relax and give yourself to me, the sooner it will feel better.”</p><p>Sansa’s moaning grew. She rocked harder on his fingers.</p><p>Dark words danced on the tip of his tongue. He let them flow.</p><p>“Nod if you understand, Sansa. Nod if you want me to hurt you, to bring us both pleasure.” But the gravel in his voice held deeper desire than she could understand.</p><p>Still, she wailed her next moan, nodding. </p><p>Petyr lined himself up between Sansa’s splayed and soaking thighs.</p><p>His eyes darkened as they held hers, wide and waiting.</p><p>With one thrust he buried his cock inside her tight cunt, pushing to the hilt, until his balls smacked her ass. Sansa let out a gasp, fingers digging into his back, then stiffening.</p><p>“Shh…” he whispered, not thrusting again, though he wanted nothing more. <em>Fuck, did she feel good.</em> “Breathe, Sansa. Breathe. Can you breathe for me, sweetling?”</p><p>She nodded again, gulping air generously.</p><p>“It’s gone now, sweetling. Your maidenhead is gone.”</p><p>He couldn’t help smug tone in his voice.</p><p>
  <em>And I’ve taken it. </em>
</p><p>Sansa only smiled, wide, and Petyr flashed a lopsided grin back at her.</p><p>He leaned down, kissing her mouth.  </p><p>“Thank you for the gift, sweetling. I hope I can give you something in return now… but if not, I promise to spend the rest of the night making it up to you.”</p><p>He began fucking her, slow but deep. Sansa’s head shot back and her legs squeezed him with each thrust.</p><p>“Before the sun rises, Sansa Stark, I promise you’ll shudder at least one orgasm around my cock and quiver another into my mouth.”</p><p>#</p><p>Petyr Baelish couldn’t claim to be a man of his word, but he’d more than made good on his promises to Sansa the night prior. She clutched him, clung to him, plead for more -- wherever and however he touched her… except when he was rough. When Petyr reached a hand around her throat, she froze, eyes like saucers. He immediately released and plied her collarbone with kisses until she eased again.</p><p>So long as he remained gentle, she stretched and arched into his hands as he stroked her, she nuzzled her face into his neck, like her sigil, like a wolf.</p><p>She parted her legs and pressed her sex into his lap as she whispered with a shy smile, <em>“again.” </em></p><p>He obliged. Every request she made with her sighs or her wiggles. He couldn’t keep his hands off her. He fell asleep with fingers splayed possessively across the flat of her belly.  </p><p>Which is why he was even more startled to wake late the next morning and find her missing from the other side of the bed.</p><p>Even more surprised than finding himself waking after her. He never slept in, and he slept lightly.</p><p>But he’d never been so contented through the night, either, never dreamed so deeply.</p><p>“Sansa?” he called.</p><p>No answer.</p><p>Petyr reached over to the bedside table and picked up his cellphone.</p><p>One text, without a name. None was needed, Petyr had long ago memorized the number for Sansa’s burner.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Gone down for coffee and pastries</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don’t worry! I used the secret exit. Wearing my wig</em>
</p><p>
  <em>See you in a few</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Petyr closed his eyes.</p><p><em>Dammit.</em> That meant Lothor didn’t have a chance to stop her. Petyr didn’t much care for sweets in the morning, but the small coffee shop had limited options. He tapped a reply into his phone.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Appreciate the gesture but it’s irresponsible</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Perhaps I’ll punish you upon your return</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You have been curious about the playroom</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He immediately wondered if he pushed too far. If a hand to her neck was too much, what would she think of all the other ideas in his head?</p><p>Petyr jumped out of bed and pulled on his pants. Teasing her about the playroom didn’t relax his nerves -- she really shouldn’t have gone out like that.</p><p>They’d taken risks before, of course. Sansa had a secret apartment on the fourth floor, where he’d initially sequestered her before she started spending more time in his place. And she had limited and approved walks, in disguise, under Lothor’s watch. But she didn’t usually flit about King’s Landing for such trivial matters as breakfast pastries. Not when Lothor could fetch them for her. Certainly not at a time like this. Though he calculated it likely she remained ignorant, Petyr conceded it possible Cersei Lannister knew he had the Stark girl.</p><p>Petyr grabbed his rumbled shirt from the floor, pulling it over his head. He was heading out to take the back exit, to follow and look for Sansa, when his phone rang.</p><p>
  <em>Rang. </em>
</p><p>Who made calls anymore, when a text could suffice?</p><p>Petyr picked up his cell, looking down at the name.</p><p>
  <em>Olyvar Hill</em>
</p><p>“Yes?” Petyr asked, knowing it was with reason if his trusted employee rang.</p><p>“My lord,” Olyvar said quickly, using the formal greeting out of respect. “My lord,” he repeated, and Petyr noticed the grievous tone of his voice.</p><p>“It’s Lady Sansa Stark… she’d been found, dead. Murdered on the street.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This reads like slow-crack-slow, to start. Just a warning that there's some background information and you'll probably wonder where this is all going.</p><p>My hope that the story quickly moves on, without too many GTFO moments. But they're here, hence the crack fic tag. </p><p>This was well nigh impossible to write.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Petyr didn’t enter the church.</p><p>Not for fear of bursting into flames, though he suspected the gods – or god – wouldn’t appreciate his presence. But because there wasn’t room.</p><p>A sham. Not one of these great lords and ladies stood against the Lannisters and helped Sansa in her life. All were swiftly friends, in death.</p><p>Petyr stood between the trees and the trashcans, smoking a cigarette, not concerned with the smell. Much.</p><p>He had no desire to mingle, to exchange worthless words of sympathy.</p><p>He had nothing to say.</p><p>Nor would any of the remaining Starks have anything to say to him. No one knew he hid Sansa.</p><p>Helped her.</p><p>
  <em>Got her killed. </em>
</p><p>Petyr inhaled a long drag of nicotine deep into his lungs. The if-only game was a waste of time for fools and dreamers; he wouldn’t play. He excelled at another game, only now just beginning. It would end as it always did, with a man begging for his life, screaming in Petyr’s <em>playroom.</em> The purest of pursuits.</p><p>The last look Petyr had of Sansa, thanks to the ambitious coroner in his back pocket, had been final enough.</p><p>He flicked his cigarette onto the ground, dusting his jacket of stray ashes. He wore a tightly-fitted black suit, paired with a black shirt and tie.</p><p>As the service concluded, guests were invited to the sprawling and seldom-used residence the Starks maintained on the outskirts of King’s Landing.</p><p><em>Compound,</em> was more apt a term.</p><p>The Stark Compound.</p><p>Like the godsdamn Kennedys.</p><p>And seemingly just as cursed.</p><p>#</p><p>Cersei Lannister didn’t attend the funeral, deeply in mourning for Joffrey. But she’d sent Tommen and Mycella, escorted by their uncle Tyrion Lannister. Petyr wondered if the young, new queen had insisted she attend Sansa Stark’s funeral, despite all her sudden and unexpected duties. He knew Mycella to be a sweet girl, with a tender heart. There was a time when the title and rule of their little world would have by-passed her and gone to straight Tommen, but such sexism ended decades ago.</p><p>Hereditary positions did not.</p><p>There was no abstention of allegiance in Westeros. Deflection meant death.</p><p>Though to be lucky enough to be born into their elite world -- Petyr couldn’t understand why anyone would <em>want </em>to live otherwise.</p><p>For some, even that privilege wasn’t enough. The last Targaryan girl was somewhere down in Egypt, he’d heard, testing her supposed ability to withstand fire, and trying to hatch fossils she believed to be dragon eggs. All based on half-forgotten claims of mysticism and magic. <em>Passed down through the far-reaching line of her ancestry,</em> Petyr thought, with a hint of bitterness. If he possessed such a lofty last name, he wouldn’t waste time on mad endeavors.</p><p>It was just as well Cersei remained absent. Petyr guessed the Lannister matriarch to be unaware of his dealings with her son to deliver the Stark girl, but he preferred confirmation. He did not relish having to invent a clever tale to explain Sansa’s apparent escape from his clumsy hands.</p><p>He stroked his beard. Though he deserved that, and worse.</p><p>Adding to his shite mood, Petyr couldn’t help that his mind worked the advantage of Sansa’s death: it drew suspicion away from him for Joffrey’s murder. The domino effect was a necessary evil, he reasoned. He couldn’t avenge Sansa if he were dead.</p><p>Two murders, so close in time, made the killings look related. Like someone close to the top sought a power-grab, and Petyr was too low-born to be suspected as benefiting. The great houses scrambled to pinpoint this new threat - someone bent murdering the next generation of heirs.</p><p>It was a good thing Petyr thrived on chaos.     </p><p>But there was one mystery that nudged at him alone.</p><p>Sansa hadn’t been attacked nearby the coffee shop closest to his condo. She’d gone several streets in the opposite direction. For a dark moment, Petyr had suspected her of some deception, meant to betray him.</p><p>Reason told him he could trust her and yet, he couldn’t understand why she’d been in that alleyway at the time of her death.</p><p>#</p><p>Truces were traditionally called at funerals, a no-kill in effect, even if two families happened to be in open war. It was both respectful and responsible. When high-ranking members of the Houses of Westeros died, media attention wasn’t far behind.</p><p>The paparazzi plaguing the church weren’t allowed on the Stark grounds, however, and with the murderer potentially in their midst, tensions ran high.</p><p>Guest rights still applied, and Petyr watched as well-heeled lords and ladies, dressed head-to-toe in designer suits and shift dresses, quickly stuffed their faces with whatever scone or tea sandwich was nearest the door of each house within the compound.</p><p>Petyr did the same, though every morsel tasted like dust in his mouth.</p><p>#</p><p>At the end of a long trail, one residence stood. It was smaller than the others, equipped with accessibility features on the outside.</p><p>
  <em>Brandon Stark. </em>
</p><p>Built so far apart, Petyr doubted many in attendance made their way down the dirt trail to pay their respects to the young Stark boy. Perhaps none had ventured so far.</p><p>Curiosity and a need to distance himself from the crowd brought Petyr to Bran’s door.</p><p>The cabin itself was constructed in a different manner than the others. The Starks had three larger houses, all white, all symmetrical, all furnished in traditional décor.</p><p>This house was in the log cabin style, quite small, and half-hidden by trees. Petyr wouldn’t have been surprised if many dismissed it as belonging to one of the servants.</p><p>He rapped his knuckles against the door.</p><p>When it opened, he frowned.</p><p>The room was dim, lit only by candlelight. Large statues of Buddha, Hindu gods, and others he did not know, towered between the candelabras. Even at a quick glance, Petyr could tell they were not imitations, but likely purchased at Sotheby’s by outbidding some curator or other who wanted them for public display, or perhaps to rightfully return to their country of origin. Woven branches lined the walls like an attempt to build some kind of druid or pagan shrine indoors.</p><p>Sitting in a ring of flickering candles, Brandon Stark stared up at him blankly.</p><p>“Hello, Petyr.”</p><p>His tone - flat, even - raised Petyr’s guard even more than the eclectic, devotional room.</p><p>Looking to his left, Petyr saw a young boy and girl - friends of Bran he surmised - though they looked almost deferential, as if they were his followers. One, scrawny, with hair past his ears, offered him a tray of little chocolate cakes.</p><p>Petyr had no stomach for chocolate, nor much of a sweet tooth. But he took one and ate it, invoking guest rights, reminding himself that he couldn’t find Sansa’s killer if he got himself killed. The murderer <em>might </em>even be nearby. For a moment or two, Petyr imagined strangling the life out of the man, but he was ripped from the delightful image of vengeance by laughter to his left.</p><p>He turned to the shaggy-haired boy who’d given him the cake.</p><p>“How-” the kid began, then broke off in snickers again. “How you feel, man?”</p><p>
  <em>Son of a bitch.  </em>
</p><p>Briefly, Petyr closed his eyes, sighing through his nose. Then, in a swift motion, he withdrew his gun from his waistband and pointed it at the boy’s head.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck the funeral truce if we’re fucking guest rights. </em>
</p><p>“What’s in the cake?” Petyr snarled, teeth clenched.</p><p>“Whoa, whoa, hold on man. It’s just a little Special B. Right, Bran? Tell him.”</p><p>Bran didn’t answer, only stared, unblinking.</p><p>Petyr grabbed the long-haired kid by the scruff and dragged him into the adjoining bathroom. With his gun pressed against the boy’s temple, Petyr tried to make himself wretch into the sink.</p><p>“Calm down! Bran, Bran, tell him to calm down! It’ll make you feel good, man.”</p><p>
  <em>Fucking Christ. </em>
</p><p>He couldn’t force anything more than spittle out his mouth. In disgust, Petyr wiped his lips with the back of his hand. He dragged the kid back into Bran’s little temple and pointed the gun at the young Stark.</p><p>“What’s in this drug?” Petyr bit out the words slowly.  </p><p>Bran gazed at Petyr as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.</p><p><em>Fuck, </em>Petyr cursed.<em> Did this shit blank your mind like… that? </em></p><p>“Leave us,” Bran said, in his eerily-detached voice. “I must speak with our friend.”</p><p>Petyr tensed his fingers. He did not lower his gun.</p><p>
  <em>Screw the kid’s relationship to Sansa. He’d shoot the boy if he didn’t get answers soon. </em>
</p><p>Tittering and giggling, Bran’s lackeys exited the cabin, leaving Petyr alone with the creepy Stark.</p><p>“Thank you for trying to help Sansa,” Bran said.</p><p>The words were a bullet to Petyr’s heart, but his only outward response was a slow blink.</p><p>Then he caught the tremor through his outstretched hand.</p><p>“What’s in the drug?” Petyr spoke the words again, slower this time.</p><p>“It helps you see. And feel. Something between these two, really.”  </p><p>Petyr resisted the urge to run his free hand through his hair.<em> The Starks and their healthsome, wholesome genes went awol on this little shit. </em></p><p>“I saw you last night, on your terrace.” </p><p>Petyr’s mouth twisted in disgust.</p><p>“Playing with drones, are we? Spying on your own sister is particularly perverse.”</p><p>“Drones,” Bran said the word, blinking. “I see things.” His voice lacked emotion or inflection.</p><p>“Is that so?” Petyr’s mouth curled into a sardonic grin. He felt loose, as if his lips weren’t his own. The drug had worked its way through his veins and up to his head. His arms felt heavy. His legs, tingly.</p><p>“Tell me, boy, did you see Sansa’s killer the next morning? Did you spy on that, too?”</p><p>Bran cocked his head slightly, a faraway look in his eyes.</p><p>“Yes. A man tried to grab her. He tried to force her to come with him. She did not want to go. She fought him. He shot her.”</p><p><em>Christ,</em> Petyr felt as if his mind was slipping away. Bran’s indifferent attitude toward his sister’s death infuriated him, but Petyr was unable to act upon his repulsion. At least, not the way he wanted. Because what he felt like doing at that moment was shooting a bullet directly into the kid’s blank face.</p><p>Petyr didn’t generally enjoy when he wasn’t in control of someone <em>else</em>’s body, feeling he wasn’t the master of his own really pissed him off. He might have a strong hand in the drug trade, but he never partook in the displeasure.</p><p>“Is that so?” Petyr asked, unaware he repeated the phrase. “And who was this man? What did he look like?”</p><p>Focusing on the Stark boy gave Petyr a slight headache. As if he’d drunk too much, his surroundings becoming hazy. But if let it remain that way, let the images and colors blur, his headache receded. It was only when he tried to fight it that everything felt wrong.</p><p>Level, almost bored, Bran replied, “I do not know him. He had brown hair. An average build. Average height.”</p><p>Petyr suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. So the rumors of Bran’s belief in his own supernatural powers were true, and they were disappointing. The boy didn’t even make an attempt to be specific. If he wanted to put on a show as a medium, he did a piss-poor job.</p><p>Petyr’s gun was no longer raised, though he couldn’t remember lowering it. The lack of consciousness startled him. He detested feeling without control of his own actions, his mind. It spoke of great weakness. Worse, he felt awareness slipping away even more.</p><p>The most reasonable course of action would be to grit his teeth and wait it out, in the relative safety of the shrine or the woods just outside.</p><p>Instead, Petyr strode over to the strange boy and pressed the gun to his forehead, ready to call out his bullshit.</p><p>“I’ve heard the rumors of you, boy. You believe you can see things in the past? Well, go back there now. Go there and warn her. Go and bring her back.”</p><p>At least, Petyr thought that’s what occurred. He might have only imagined it. He was having trouble separating what was happening in his head from what actually happened in the room.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Bran said, though he didn’t sound sorry at all. “I can’t talk to people in the past without destroying their minds. I can’t change things to bring people back from the dead. I need to learn to see better.”</p><p>How convenient.</p><p>Petyr pressed the gun harder against the boy’s forehead, causing Bran to tilt his head back, though the boy showed no sense of the fear he should.</p><p>Or was this only happening in Petyr’s own head?</p><p>“Tell me boy, by what right do you live, when she’s dead? She was the best of you. Maybe I should kill every last one of you Starks. Maybe I will.”</p><p>The words, unworthy of Petyr, slipped out of his mouth without his approval.</p><p>
  <em>Fucking drugs.</em>
</p><p>#</p><p>With difficulty, Petyr opened his eyes. They actually hurt – his eyelids. Every muscle in his body ached. He had no recollection of how he’d made it to his bed.</p><p>The last thing he remembered was Sansa’s funeral. Bran’s cabin. Petyr remembered… pot brownies, or something stronger. <em>Fucking little shits.</em></p><p>He glanced at his cell and it came back to him. Lothor. He’d called his bodyguard to pick him up.</p><p>Christ, had the burly man needed to put him to bed like a wayward frat boy who’d been on a bender?</p><p>At least Brune knew better than to mention it.</p><p>Rubbing his hand down his face, Petyr made his way to the bathroom. After a hot shower and a strong cup of coffee, he’d re-focus on the task at hand.</p><p>Vengeance for Sansa</p><p>#</p><p>Staring at the slim clues had been a wasted effort.</p><p>In the late afternoon, Petyr ditched the desk work to clear his head with a run through the hills outside King’s Landing. He took the long trail overlooking Blackwater Bay, the one that left the tourists far behind.</p><p>Spurred by his body’s demand, he sweat out the lingering effects of the drug.</p><p>As he ran, he pictured the milky skin of her slim back. Felt her silken hair between his fingers. Heard her sweet sighs.</p><p>His mind demanded he sweat out those memories, as well.</p><p>When he’d finally stopped on the dirt hill, he was laboring to breathe. Bent over, sweat dripped from his hair onto the ground. His shirt stuck to his back.</p><p>He couldn’t run like he had in his twenties, and the smoking didn’t help -- not that a cigarette and a whisky weren’t the first things he’d reach for back at his place. After a cold shower.</p><p>In favor of speed, Petyr headed for the subway station near the park entrance.</p><p>He caught the first train back into the city center, feeling more refreshed on the ride. But peering out the window as his train pulled into the station, he could see that he was going to miss his connection.</p><p>It didn’t deter him from trying.</p><p>At a fast clip, he walked to the other side of the platform, only to have the doors close before he could wedge his fingers between them. His hand banged fruitlessly against the glass, once, then he raised it, open-palmed, in a universal sign that said, <em>come on, fuck.</em></p><p>He stepped back to watch the train pass, sighing through his nose.</p><p>His heart stopped when he saw hair that brilliant shade of red.</p><p>Sansa.</p><p>Wide blue eyes.</p><p>
  <em>She was there. </em>
</p><p>Pale skin.</p><p>
  <em>Sansa. </em>
</p><p>Frustratingly tall.</p><p>
  <em>In the car passing him by. </em>
</p><p>Was his mind playing tricks on him?</p><p>And did she see him too? He thought she might have, but she gave no sign.</p><p>Petyr’s heart sped. He was running again, he didn’t even realize it. Trying to follow the train as it disappeared into the tunnel.</p><p>
  <em>Sansa. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sansa was in that car. </em>
</p><p>Taking the steps two at a time, Petyr ran up and out of the station.</p><p>Where was she going? Maybe to the next stop?</p><p>Or was he crazy?</p><p>It was only a tendril of red he’d spied, poking out beneath a hat he’d never seen.</p><p>But those eyes.</p><p>Looking like a godsdamn fool -- like he would never normally be seen on the streets of King’s Landing -- Petyr sprinted in his workout clothes, pushing pedestrians aside as he tried to beat the train five blocks to the next stop.</p><p>
  <em>It was her. It was her? </em>
</p><p>When he made it to the intersection, he could see the funnel of riders spread out, making their way to their destinations. Of course he hadn’t beaten the train, but was she there, maybe? Lingering? Looking for him?</p><p>In a trance-like state, Petyr searched. Up and down the blocks. Peering in shops and bars. Feeling like a fucking idiot yet unable to stop.</p><p>Finally, he glimpsed the setting sun and he had to wonder if he’d imagined it. Some kind of side-effect of the drug.</p><p>The foolish hope, and its subsequent loss, pained him even more.</p><p>He raked his hand through his hair.</p><p>
  <em>Since when had he become a fool again?</em>
</p><p>He wasn’t that boy anymore.</p><p>Petyr whipped his phone out of his pocket and called a black car service to drive him the rest of the way his penthouse.</p><p>#</p><p>Entering the security code on his door panel, Petyr listened to the <em>beep </em>of the release, then opened the door.</p><p>He stepped into the entranceway of his condo.</p><p>The marble foyer was dark. He always left the hall light on, always. And Petyr didn’t make mistakes. He felt a prickle of warning at the back of his neck.</p><p>Though, he reasoned, he certainly wasn’t himself right now.</p><p>Petyr closed the door behind him and turned around.</p><p>He blinked, jaw dropping, slack.</p><p>Sansa Stark stood before him, eyes blazing.</p><p>Pointing a gun at his head.</p><p>It took a great deal to startle Petyr, to throw him off his game.</p><p>“Hello, Petyr.”</p><p>He added this to a list so short he could count the incidents on one hand.</p><p>“I bet you’re surprised to see me, you bastard.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Here is where we crossed over. Briefly. I know it's not for everyone. </p><p>This was especially difficult to write because Petyr, a man of facts and figures, juxtaposed against the fantastical, is jarring even in canon Westeros. To have it in a Modern AU is especially out-of-place. I couldn't get it where I wanted, but I did the best I could. Magical realism isn't really my forte, but, I really like learning new things. </p><p>Without giving too much away, I wanted this trope to explore some of the angst in the tags (it's not groundhog day.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for sticking with me through the crack -- now we get to have fun! </p><p>If your idea of fun is an all-night angst-fest. With frustrated lust and dizzying fury and a thin line between them. Eh, f*ck it. No line, really. Just a mad and inseparable swirl of conflicting emotions that enrage and inflame.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Sansa,” Petyr rasped.</p><p>“Thought I was dead? I’d heard the same about you. Yet here you are.”</p><p>Petyr’s mind possessed the agility of an Olympic gymnast, it was one of his best assets. Yet the impossibility of Sansa standing before him, the muddled events of the last two days, left him without thought, without words.</p><p>
  <em>She’s alive. </em>
</p><p>He did the only thing he could. Act on instinct and reach for her.</p><p>At the rage in her wild eyes – eyes he did not recognize – he froze. She cocked the hammer of her pistol and <em>shot.</em></p><p>Right above his shoulder, whizzing past his head. So close he could feel the bullet fly by his cheek.</p><p>
  <em>Since when had Sansa learned to shoot a gun, and with alarming accuracy? </em>
</p><p>“The next one will shatter your handsome face, Petyr. And won’t that be a shame? You won’t even leave behind a pretty corpse.”</p><p>All at once, thought returned.</p><p>
  <em>Someone was making her do this?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She’d hit her head and suffered delusions?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She’d been misinformed about something he did?</em>
</p><p><em>She’d been</em> correctly<em> informed about something he did?</em></p><p>Petyr narrowed his eyes, studying her. She was different, and he couldn’t place the reason. There had to be a grave misunderstanding somehow, he was sure. He could fix it, whatever it was. The only thing that mattered was that Sansa was <em>alive, </em>and if he could just calm her down, they could get through this.</p><p>“Sansa, I’m a bit confused. Whatever it is you think happened, if we could speak a moment, I can explain-”</p><p>Sansa cocked the gun again, <em>and took aim at his head</em>. Petyr shut his mouth. He rocked back on his heels, raising his hands in surrender.</p><p>“Explain? You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” She raised her chin as she spoke, relishing her position. It was an advantage, Petyr thought, almost smugly. Sansa was angry enough to keep talking, to want to hurl words.</p><p>“As long as you have your tongue, you have opportunity, don’t you?”</p><p>Or maybe she was on to him.</p><p>“Your words are sugared lies and you fed them to me. Poisoned candies for the stupid little girl.”</p><p>
  <em>What game was she playing? Had someone turned her against him? Helped her fake her own death?</em>
</p><p>Sansa let a diabolical smile split her lovely face.</p><p>“I’m not a little girl anymore.”</p><p>“I noticed.”</p><p>His gaze roved over her body as he spoke and Sansa’s eyes flashed, jaw clenched.</p><p>Inside, Petyr allowed himself a smirk. His sweetling. The girl he could rile. Usually with a bit of cheek or flippancy. She was still there, underneath.</p><p>Underneath her unusual attire. Converse sneakers and leather pants like a second skin. A camisole poking out from a tightly-fitted jacket. All topped off with that newsboy cap, below which she tried to hide her long hair.</p><p>All black, from head to toe.</p><p>Other than the day they met Joffrey’s men, when Petyr picked out her clothes, he had never seen Sansa in anything but pastels and bright colors. Gauzy sundresses that dipped down her back. Flowing, floral skirts that temped him to run his hands up those coltish legs.</p><p>He welcomed the change before him. Particular parts of him stirred, welcoming it more than others.</p><p>“Stop it,” Sansa growled.</p><p>Petyr raised his eyebrows. Innocently.</p><p>“I know what you’re doing.”</p><p>He scrunched his lips. <em>Did she?</em></p><p>“You disgust me. I bet you think I hate you. I don’t hate you. You’re not worthy of my hate. You’re beneath it. Beneath me.”</p><p>Every tense muscle in her face said otherwise, but Petyr played along.</p><p>“I’m glad to hear it. Tell me. What have I done to earn such revulsion?”</p><p>Sansa barked a laugh.</p><p>“Oh, that’s precious Petyr. Don’t insult us both by wasting these last, treasured minutes of your life by pretending that you were forced to do it.”</p><p>Petyr licked his lips. “Alright. What is it you would like from me in the final moments of my life?”</p><p>“Beg. Beg to live. Beg as I begged you.”</p><p>Petyr frowned. Sansa definitely didn’t make any sense.</p><p>“I’m begging you, Sansa.”</p><p>He didn’t even sound humble. His voice, flat, bore only a hint of caution due to genuine confusion.</p><p>It did not satisfy Sansa.</p><p>“On your knees,” she snarled. “Plead, cry, beg me not to do this. Beg me like I begged you!”</p><p>For a girl claiming she felt no hatred, she gave a very good impression of one. Sansa’s eyes glistened with what he took as tears of rage, threatening to spill.</p><p>From the darkness behind her, Petyr saw movement.</p><p>Keeping his eyes on Sansa, he shook his head once, seemingly denying her request, <em>“No.”</em> Then, he added, “Don’t shoot.”</p><p>He wasn’t speaking to Sansa.</p><p>Lothor Brune had finally snuck from the back stairs into Petyr’s great room, directly behind the foyer. From the shadows, he pointed his gun at Sansa. He wasn’t like to miss.</p><p>Understanding his boss, the bodyguard instead knocked the nearest object – a remote to the penthouse sound system – off the shelf. It clattered to the hardwood floor, cracking open and piercing the silence.</p><p>Petyr kept his eyes on Sansa.</p><p>On instinct, she turned in the direction of the noise, aiming to shoot.</p><p>Petyr lunged, tackling her. Grabbing her hand and wrenching the gun from it, pushing her to the floor without any gentleness. There wasn’t time. There wasn’t opportunity – <em>Sansa fought back, </em>much to Petyr’s surprise,<em> tenaciously. </em></p><p>Maybe even skillfully.</p><p>“Sansa, stop. Stop,” Petyr repeated, once he had enough leverage to secure her beneath him. “Listen to me, stop it, stop.”</p><p>Instead, as he pinned her arms, she cried one pained yelp, like an animal, utterly baffling him.</p><p>Then something else came over her, and, shocking Petyr even more, she spat on him. Right in his face.</p><p>At that point, Petyr caught the large outline of Lothor Brune overhead, proffering a pair of handcuffs. He rose to his knees, wiping the spit from his face, while Lothor grabbed Sansa’s wrists.</p><p>“I hate you! I hate you!” she screamed.</p><p><em>Yes, well,</em> Petyr thought. <em>You’ve made that perfectly clear. Despite previous protests to the contrary.</em></p><p>“Cuff her to the pillar,” Petyr ordered, nodding his head in the direction of one of the white columns.</p><p>He moved from something like joy to, he had to admit, annoyance. Either this was a game she was in on or not, but somebody wanted him dead, that much was clear. And he didn’t appreciate the spit.</p><p>Restrained, Sansa quieted, but her muscles coiled, her eyes darted about, her nostrils flared as she breathed heavily. Petyr recognized the behavior. Like a dog – <em>a wolf</em> – he corrected, biding its time, taking careful note of all surroundings as it looked for opportunity to escape.</p><p>He said nothing as he watched her.</p><p>
  <em>Sansa Stark is alive. </em>
</p><p>Petyr’s mind repeated the impossibility his eyes confirmed, bending him to accept the fact.</p><p>Unless…</p><p>There were only two possibilities. That <em>wasn’t </em>Sansa Stark in the morgue, or this girl handcuffed to a column in his great room wasn’t her, despite Petyr’s own eyes telling him otherwise.</p><p>There would be a rational explanation, uncovered by indisputable evidence.</p><p>People acted illogically every day.</p><p>Petyr wasn’t one of them.</p><p>Ignoring her recoiling, he walked over to Sansa and fisted her hair in one hand. With the other, he pulled a few strands from the taut grasp.</p><p>“Call a courier,” he told Lothor. “Find Sansa’s hairbrush, it’s in the bedroom, and remove a few hairs. Seal the two samples in separate envelopes and have the courier take them to the lab. I’ll text Carlsson.”</p><p>Sansa, now standing still, did fine work of pretending not to listen.</p><p>Petyr stroked his beard, biting his tongue.</p><p>It was as if someone else resided in Sansa’s head. Hijacking her mind. Any questions he wanted to ask revealed too much. It would be better to wait for the test results. He’d make sure he transferred enough to Carlsson to have them back within a few hours -- even if he needed to bribe the man to come into work to do it.</p><p>Petyr stepped close again. He took Sansa’s chin between his fingers and forced her to look at him, so that he could study her.</p><p>She trembled, <em>she actually trembled.</em></p><p>Her pupils, blown wide, conveyed an emotion Petyr couldn’t read. Fear wasn’t quite right, though that was there, on her face. His own face was inches away; his body less than a foot from hers. And it clearly had an effect on Sansa he couldn’t put his finger on.</p><p>He wasn’t sure how much she hid, and how much he simply didn’t recognize, before she tore her head from his grasp and met him with that same blazing anger she wore when she first broke into his penthouse.  </p><p>“You better kill me,” Sansa said, low and even. “Because if I get the chance again, I’m going to kill you. And I’ll kill myself before I let you take me back.”</p><p>
  <em>Back where? </em>
</p><p>Petyr didn’t reach for her again. He reverted to his natural state, as well.</p><p>“I suppose it’s too much to ask that we have a drink, a chat, and nobody kills anybody. Yet.” He took a step back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lothor had returned. “But then, you’re in no position to grant or deny requests. I’m going to pour myself a drink. You can stay here and think up ways to kill me, although I doubt you’ll meet with much success handcuffed to my pillar-”</p><p>Petyr stopped, remembering that a whisky had been his once-forgotten intention, upon arriving home. He looked down at himself. He was still in his gym clothes. He’d been running. Sweating out the Special B.</p><p>
  <em>Did Bran know something about this?</em>
</p><p>The creepy Stark boy knew Petyr had been hiding Sansa. He’d been spying on them, Petyr remembered.</p><p>“Watch her,” Petyr said, stooping to retrieve Sansa’s gun and stepping out of the room. He took his cell phone from his pocket and looked up the general number for the Stark compound. He didn’t have a direct number for each Stark, but all the great houses were required to maintain one line, with contact information shared between them, if not the general public.</p><p>That didn’t mean anyone was truly able to reach the intended lord or lady. Petyr fully expected a servant to answer. He was surprised to hear Robb Stark pick up the house phone.</p><p>“Lord Petyr Baelish,” he introduced himself, formally, before launching into a greeting of sympathy. “I’m calling to offer my condolences…”</p><p>When he’d finished, Robb replied with a stiff, “thank you.”</p><p><em>No love there, </em>Petyr thought. He wondered what stories of the past the young Lord Stark had heard from his late mother.</p><p>“I wonder if I might speak with your brother, Brandon. He asked me to connect him with a contact of mine at Sotheby’s, in the department of Asian antiquities.”</p><p>“Bran shuns technology,” Robb replied, a little less curtly. “And he doesn’t leave the house often. You’ll have to come here if you want to speak with him. We’re staying through the week, at least, so you can come anytime-”</p><p>“I’ll be there in less than an hour, if that’s okay with you.”</p><p>“That’s… fine,” Robb finished, too polite to refuse the odd request without reason.</p><p>When Petyr returned to his great room, Sansa had sunken to the floor, head resting against the column, seemingly defeated.</p><p>He didn’t buy it.</p><p>She couldn’t have come up the back stairs without triggering a warning Lothor would have seen earlier. And he hadn’t given Sansa a key to the front door. So she either fabricated one, or picked the lock, and she knew – remembered? - the code to his door as well.</p><p>Petyr made a show of going to his sidebar with his back turned. Fidgeting with his phone, emptying the contents of his pockets. Placing Sansa’s gun on top of the sidebar. Raking his hands through his hair, as if frustrated. Distracted. Turning and leaving the gun.</p><p>There was no time to shower, but at the very least he could put on fresh clothes. Petyr went upstairs to his bedroom, grabbing the first pair of pants and shirt from his closet.</p><p>Black pants, white shirt.</p><p>It reminded Petyr of Sansa’s attire when she’d posed as bait.</p><p>Returning to the first floor, he passed her again on his way to his front door.</p><p>It was Sansa. He was sure of it. Someone has just… scrambled her mind.</p><p>“Watch her,” he repeated to Lothor.</p><p>Petyr stepped into the hallway.</p><p>He didn’t want to leave her. But she was handcuffed to a pillar and his bodyguard wouldn’t let her go anywhere.</p><p>Just to be safe, once Petyr made it to the ground floor, he updated the security code on his elevator. Like his door, it required <em>both </em>a key and a code. The lift wouldn’t return to his top floors without it. The only way up or down would be the back stairs, essentially trapping Sansa inside.</p><p>#</p><p>
  <em>A bloody waste of time. </em>
</p><p>Petyr didn’t usually smoke inside his car or his house, detesting the unclean smell, but he made an exception that night, racing through the streets into downtown King’s Landing.</p><p>Brandon Stark had been just as high as he’d been during his sister’s funeral.</p><p>This time, Petyr made sure not to touch any food or drink he was offered. This time, he remembered the delusional, self-flattering nonsense spewing from the kid’s mouth.</p><p>He wished he didn’t. Frankly, it gave Petyr a headache to suffer fools.</p><p>“It’s not her,” the Stark boy had concluded, after delivering an utterly preposterous and mystical explanation for Sansa’s reappearance. <em>For which he credited to his own magical abilities,</em> Petyr thought wryly.</p><p>“Examine her,” Bran said, staring dully in the distance. “The truth is in the flesh.”</p><p><em>Jesus Christ.</em> Targaryans tried hatching dragon eggs and Starks claimed body doubles came from other dimensions or timelines or what-the-fuck-ever. Petyr inhaled deeply on his cigarette. It was their own fault, really -- The Great Houses of Westeros. Too much inbreeding. Like royals, they were bound to pay the price, sooner or later.</p><p>The memory of sex with Sansa, the idea that flashed through his mind at the time – that <em>he </em>wanted to breed with <em>her </em>– was so visceral, Petyr had to adjust the seat of his pants.</p><p>He had half a mind to shoot Brandon, or drag him back to the playroom for questioning under his own brand of <em>persuasion</em> that certainly didn’t involve pot brownies<em>.</em> The kid was involved in this scheme somehow, because he knew Sansa had returned before Petyr even told him.</p><p>But the odd part of Bran’s story was that he didn’t seem to care one way or the other if Petyr believed him. Brandon Stark didn’t seem to care about anything at all.</p><p>Deciding not to waste any more time with the Starks<em> he</em> didn’t care about – which were all but Sansa – Petyr left as abruptly as he’d arrived, re-determined to focus on getting information from the girl in his penthouse.</p><p>He sped through a yellow light, now about ten blocks from his building.</p><p>The only thing that bothered him was that something about Sansa <em>was </em>different. He couldn’t name it, he just… felt it.</p><p>His cell rang, the call coming in through the sound system in his Porsche Taycan.</p><p>“Carlsson,” Petyr said, clicking to answer.</p><p>“Hey,” he heard the grainy voice on the other end of the line. Carlsson was still in the lab, under thick walls of concrete. “I got the results from your samples. Thanks for the coin, by the way.”</p><p>“And?” Petyr snapped, impatient.</p><p>“Same person.”</p><p>Petyr worked his jaw. That was good news. Just what he wanted to hear.</p><p>So why didn’t it sit right with him?</p><p>“Thank you,” he replied. “You’ll find a bonus in your account soon.”</p><p>He clicked off the call without saying more, threw his cigarette out the window, and turned into his underground garage.</p><p>Would a night in his playroom motivate Sansa to start telling the truth?</p><p>
  <em>Could he do something like that to her? </em>
</p><p>#</p><p>As soon as Petyr opened his front door, he sensed there was a problem. In the dark, his eyes adjusted to see Lothor, sprawled on the floor. Dead? Unconscious? At the moment, he was too angry to care.</p><p>Sansa was gone.</p><p>Something cold wrapped around Petyr’s heart. His eyes flicked to the sideboard. The gun was missing.</p><p>He heard a door slam from somewhere upstairs and took off at a run in that direction.</p><p>
  <em>She was still inside. She hadn’t figured out how to get down. </em>
</p><p>Sprinting up the stairs to the second story, Petyr followed the rapid sound of footfalls leading to his bedroom. Sansa was careless, anxious. He must have come home only moments after she’d gotten out of her handcuffs.</p><p>The glass doors to his terrace were wide open.</p><p>Petyr checked his gun, making sure it was securely in the waistband at the small of his back. Then he followed Sansa out on the terrace without withdrawing it.</p><p>Her hat had fallen off somewhere, and her long, red hair blew in the night breeze as she leaned over the glass railing, looking for a way down. That cold feeling gripped Petyr’s heart harder.</p><p>
  <em>He was going to lose her again. She was going to hurt herself or get herself killed. </em>
</p><p>She turned, seemingly ready to try another side when she spied him.</p><p>“Stay back or I’ll shoot,” she said, aiming her gun.</p><p>Petyr raised his arms, once more in surrender, but he didn’t stop walking towards her.</p><p>“Sansa, if we could just talk a moment. I know you’re… confused.”</p><p>“Confused?” she laughed the word. “Confused is the one thing I’m not any longer. Oh, I was at first, Petyr. So confused as to how you could do it. How you could betray me. How you could hand me over to Ramsey Bolton.”</p><p>
  <em>Who the fuck… </em>
</p><p>“Snow?” Petyr asked, pulling the name from deep within his memory. “Are we talking about Ramsey Snow? The Bolton bastard?”</p><p>“Shut up! Stop it with your lies! Don’t come any closer!”</p><p>Petyr paused. For the moment.</p><p>“Back then, there were so many questions I wanted to ask you. So many they danced around in my head at night, over and over, keeping me awake.” She laughed again, coldly. “The pain and the fear did a good job of that anyway.”</p><p>Clenching her teeth, Sansa said, “But I narrowed it down to one question. The only question that mattered. And I didn’t need to ask it of you. Only myself.”</p><p>Her arms shook with rage as she spoke.</p><p>
  <em>“How was I going to escape, so that I could take my revenge on you?” </em>
</p><p>Petyr had started walking again, slowly. He had no idea what she was talking about. But since his visit with Bran, he wondered if she’d been similarly drugged. Drugged and hypnotized somehow, to believe whatever crazy story someone wanted her to believe. In order to take him out.</p><p>“I can see that I’ve hurt you, considerably,” he soothed, seeing no such thing. “Death is such a quick form of revenge, and quite final.”</p><p><em>Except in your case,</em> he thought.</p><p>“My playroom is just inside. Would you like to go there and talk? You can strap me down and ask any questions you like. There are numerous tools at your disposal to assist-”</p><p>“That’s what you’re always angling for, isn’t it, Petyr? Time to talk, to lie! Stay back!”</p><p>He was less than two meters from her now. The wind blew her hair across her face, sticking strands between her lips and fluttering across her eyes, but she wouldn’t lower the gun to brush them aside.</p><p>Those eyes he could drown in and lips in which he lost himself. When kissing, or even just watching her talk.</p><p>It was her. And it wasn’t.</p><p>Petyr felt a pain in his chest he hadn’t felt before.</p><p>He needed to save her. Before she did something stupid. Before she hurt herself.</p><p>If he could just get through to her… have her remember him… Remember how they worked together when duping Joffrey’s men.</p><p>He repeated what he’d said in the van, hoping to jog her memory.</p><p>“Sansa, please. I need you to trust me, sweetling. Do you trust me?”</p><p>In the span of a heartbeat, he realized those were the wrong words. <em>Specifically,</em> as if they were a particular trigger.</p><p>Fury crossed Sansa’s face and she cocked the gun and <em>shot him.</em></p><p>She actually fucking shot him.</p><p>He might have taken a half second to be surprised that it had come to that. But Sansa’s mouth dropped in abject shock because no bullet flew.</p><p>Petyr had already removed the ammunition from the magazine, and the live round in the barrel, when he’d left her gun on the sideboard. A false hope to distract her. One he didn’t think he’d really need. One he took only as a lucky precaution.</p><p>In her moment of stunned horror, Sansa did what anyone would do.</p><p>She pulled the trigger again. And again. Wasted precious seconds in which Petyr crossed the distance between them, knocked the gun from her hand and knocked Sansa to the floor.</p><p>Rougher than even the last time because he was kind of pissed. Impressed, but also pissed.</p><p>She fucking tried to kill him.</p><p>They wrestled, Sansa also wilder than the last time, screaming at Petyr and swinging her arms – not for a dainty slap, but with fists - some of which connected with Petyr’s torso hard enough to bruise, he was sure.</p><p>By the time he’d pinned her to the ground, <em>again,</em> her camisole and jacket had ridden up her body.</p><p>Petyr saw the scar. A pink line, across her belly. And another, bisecting it.</p><p>Knife wounds.</p><p>He blinked.</p><p>It wasn’t a new mark; it looked several months along the healing process. And it wasn’t there before she died.</p><p>Petyr followed the line to where it disappeared under her shirt.</p><p>Gripped by madness, he briefly let go of Sansa’s arms, unzipping her jacket and tearing it apart when the zipper stuck. When he caught her camisole between his fists and tore that in two, Sansa’s screams became hysterical. He ignored her, seizing her arms again only to cease the nuisance of her hitting him. His eyes trailed the two scars running the length of her abdomen.</p><p>This was Sansa. DNA tests confirmed it. His own eyes confirmed it.</p><p>But Sansa never had these scars. This couldn’t be Sansa. His… intuition? Some gut feeling inside Petyr told him this wasn’t the Sansa Stark who left to get coffee the morning of her death.</p><p>The only explanation that made this possible was Brandon Stark’s.</p><p>And that explanation didn’t make sense.</p><p>Sansa’s hysterics reached new heights, but at that moment Petyr thought only about the drink he needed. The drink he’d been waiting for since he finished his run in the hills. Had that only been a few hours ago?</p><p>He heard his bodyguard behind him. Late again.</p><p>“Fail me once more and you won’t live to regret it.” He had to speak at a louder volume than usual to be heard over Sansa. “Tell me the tale of how a small girl was able to escape you?”</p><p>“She said she had to use the bathroom. I kept her handcuffed. She picked the lock.”</p><p>Petyr lifted himself, dragging Sansa along with him. He deposited her with Lothor, whose large arms had no difficulty keeping her restrained. Thankfully, he even clamped a wide hand over her mouth.</p><p>“Put her in the playroom and don’t disappoint me again.” Petyr said. “I need a drink.”</p><p>He walked to the terrace doors before stopping and turning his head to look over his shoulder.</p><p>“The ceiling hook,” he said. “I need full access to her body.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter changes POVs. </p><p>I had a lot of trouble with this part of the story, as it's tricky to keep track in my head, though that was a part of the fun/the challenge. Er, it was supposed to be. </p><p>Primarily though, this was another chapter I wound up having to split in two parts, so this is more of a ramp-up to what happens next, and reads a little quieter. I wanted to work it to be more exciting, but I'm going to have to let it be, or else I'll never move on! </p><p>(Oh, and I do love a faint/near-faint, so there's a reappearance of a similar scene from another fic. This is the first of two little actions I am using again.)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>It’s critical for your survival that you do not panic. You’ve been preparing months for this.</em>
</p><p>That wasn’t quite true. Since escaping Ramsey Bolton, Sansa had been preparing to enact a slow and torturous revenge on Petyr Baelish. Not to wind up in his power again. Especially not <em>physically</em> this time. Which might be worse than last. Because this time, she knew the limitless capacity of his cruelty.           </p><p>Last time, he didn’t need to lock the stupid little girl in the playroom. Last time…</p><p>But she wouldn’t think about that now.</p><p><em>Focus, </em>she scolded. <em>What would Petyr do in a situation like-</em></p><p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p><p>Sansa squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep, steadying breath. She needed to pace herself. Who knew how long she’d be strung up like meat on a hook?</p><p>At least her feet touched the ground. Petyr didn’t always grant a guest such privilege. But it had only been a few minutes since Lothor tied her arms above her head and they already ached. Worse, her feet had been firmly <em>secured</em> to the ground, in leather cuffs meant for a more erotic purpose, snuffing out any hope she had of kicking.</p><p>Distracting herself from the boiling mix of rage and terror spreading through her veins, Sansa looked around the room. Unlike the rest of the penthouse - all stark whites and cool grays - the playroom was draped in darkness. Obsidian and mahogany, with touches of crimson. A bed and a cage made focal points in the center of the floor. Sinister leather straps and metal bondage devices conspicuously lined the walls.</p><p><em>Just a kinky dungeon for an eccentric millionaire,</em> it screamed. <em>Not a room of despair where thugs and lackeys who’d crossed Petyr met gruesome ends.      </em></p><p>Quite the perverse joke. Soccer moms and dads out in the suburbs tried to hide their dirty little sex lives, while Petyr put it boldly on display to <em>hide behind.</em></p><p>If the housekeepers ever found any bloodstains Lothor missed, they didn’t ask questions.</p><p>Sansa tried to stretch and roll her shoulders. Her jacket and camisole – now torn in two and hanging open – exposed her chest.</p><p>What had Petyr meant when he said he needed access to her body? Why was he so interested in her scars? Did he feel some morsel of guilt about what he’d done? And what game was he playing, where he pretended not to know? Was it some form of reverse psychology, meant to gaslight her somehow?</p><p>Most bewildering of all, the question that kept repeating itself in Sansa’s head was -- why, after all this time, did Petyr have her hairbrush in his bedroom? Complete with her hair still in it?</p><p>He had loved running his fingers through her locks. Perhaps it was some sick token, a memento.</p><p>
  <em>If he has some affection for me, I can use that against him. </em>
</p><p>She’d learned from the best, after all.</p><p>Whatever Petyr intended, it couldn’t be as bad as Ramsey. If Littlefinger planned on handing her back, he’d need her in one piece, and there might be time between then and now to find a way to kill him… or herself.</p><p>Sansa wished she’d shot the bastard before he tackled her. Jumped off the terrace before he ran through the door.</p><p>More regrets in a list so long she couldn’t keep track. At times they pressed upon her chest, a physical thing, smothering her, making it hard to breathe.</p><p>#        </p><p>Petyr stared at the amber liquid in his glass. He’d been doing nothing special at all when it came back to him - although the entire evening was certainly anything but ordinary.</p><p>Just as he set down the decanter of whisky, he <em>remembered. </em>The day of Sansa’s funeral. His doped-up conversation with Bran. He could see it, in his mind.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Why don’t you bring her back or I’ll kill you all.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The words, unworthy of Petyr, slipped out of his mouth without his approval. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fucking drugs. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bran had blinked. And just like that, he completely changed course. As if he wasn’t contradicting everything he’d just said, he replied, as level as ever. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Okay.”  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Petyr was the one who pushed him.</p><p>His memory matched the Stark boy’s explanation earlier that evening -- Bran claiming he employed mystical time-travel powers. Trying, unsuccessfully, to change his sister’s fate, but somehow bringing another version of Sansa over from some multidimensional-</p><p>Petyr couldn’t finish the thought without rolling his eyes. He rubbed his hand roughly down his face, as if he could rub the foolishness from his mind.</p><p>None of it made any sense.</p><p>He took a long sip of whisky and slammed the glass back on the surface of the polished table, ignoring the wet ring it left.</p><p>The girl in the other room both was and was not Sansa, at the same time. Like Schrodinger's damn cat. And he wouldn’t know the truth until he… looked inside the box.</p><p>She matched the DNA test, according to the lab. But her body did not, according to his own eyes.</p><p>Petyr worked his jaw. An identical twin hidden by the Starks? Manipulated through genetic engineering and carried by a surrogate?</p><p>She hadn’t run for the hidden staircase when trying to escape. Why?</p><p><em>Sansa tried to kill him.</em> The bloody girl in the other room tried to <em>kill</em> him.</p><p>None of it made damn sense.</p><p>Petyr’s own strategy came to mind.</p><p>
  <em>“Sometimes, when I try to understand a person’s motives, I play a little game. I assume the worst. What’s the worst reason they could possibly have for saying what they say, or doing what they do? Then I ask myself, ‘how well does that reason explain what they say and what they do?’”</em>
</p><p>He leaned back in his chair, spinning the ring on his pinky.</p><p>It wasn’t so much that Sansa’s motives were the worst (although he didn’t rank murderous vengeance as his desired passion from the girl. At least not in his direction.) Rather, he considered the dilemma of another Sansa in terms of<em> being</em> the worst, or most improbable scenario, and seeing how well that explained what she said and did. If all else failed, perhaps playing along with whatever Sansa believed might lull her into revealing more than she intended.</p><p>Petyr tossed back the rest of his whisky. He <em>wanted</em> to feel a little loose. His rational mind wouldn’t let him proceed otherwise.</p><p>And yet…</p><p>Before her death, Sansa’s innocence as she stumbled through flirting admittedly made him feel a bit like a dirty old man. And it aroused him.</p><p>But she’d always been a willing partner.</p><p>Whoever the girl was tied up in his playroom, she certainly was not willing or in any way consenting to have him do what he was about to do.</p><p>The forceful compulsion, far more forbidden, stirred something deep and dark within Petyr that sent a rush to his head.</p><p>#</p><p>Sansa’s stomach knotted when Littlefinger stepped into the playroom, and a sudden lightheadedness seized her brain.</p><p>She’d been running on adrenaline and fury -- and though she could sustain an extraordinary amount of hatred for Petyr Baelish -- her body couldn’t function in that heightened state indefinitely.</p><p>Especially not when other emotions, like terror, raged within.</p><p>Certainly not hurt. Well. Maybe pain was <em>natural,</em> after suffering such deep betrayal.</p><p>But definitely not love. That wasn’t there any longer. Absolutely not.</p><p>“Leave.”</p><p>Petyr didn’t bothering turning to his burly bodygauard as he spoke.</p><p>“Stay at the end of the hall. I don’t want to be disturbed if this takes all night. I’m sure your nap on the floor earlier provided rest enough.”</p><p>Sansa wished they hadn’t, but his words made her gulp.</p><p>
  <em>All night in this room with Petyr?</em>
</p><p>He was the measured, deliberate kind of predator. The kind that watched from the shadows, took its time. What need had he to rush, when careful maneuvering permitted the flick of his finger to topple the dominos in the direction he desired? When he need only sit back, snap those same fingers, and some complex mouse trap sprang into dizzying action, ensnaring his prey at the other end?</p><p>History repeated itself. She was the mouse again.</p><p>
  <em>No, I’ve changed. I must be brave. My skin is steel. </em>
</p><p>In the dimmed light of the playroom, Petyr’s eyes seemed black.</p><p>Sansa wouldn’t give him the pleasure of begging, no matter what he did to her. She wouldn’t even speak.</p><p>Maybe she lifted her chin, stubborn.</p><p>Maybe he curled his lip, knowing.</p><p>
  <em>Asshole. </em>
</p><p>His shoes clicked on the dark, tiled floor as he advanced.</p><p>
  <em>Easier to clean up the blood. </em>
</p><p>“Tell me what you’re hiding and I won’t hurt you. Who sent you to kill me?”</p><p>Sansa had to stop her mouth from dropping. How dare he?</p><p><em>“I</em> sent me, Petyr. You think I do what other people tell me to any longer?”</p><p>He blinked, slowly.</p><p>“I imagine you’re very angry at me for… the past. Tell me. Which of my actions upset you the most?”</p><p>Oh, if she could get her hands free Sansa would have wrung his neck. Did he want to hear it? How much it hurt, which of his betrayals hurt her the most?</p><p>Defying her vow not to ask questions - because he’d only lie anyway, because she’d show how much power he’d had over her – Sansa opened her mouth and they poured out.</p><p>“Tell <em>me,</em> Petyr. Why did you sell me to Ramsey? Why did you do it?” Her voice cracked at the end. “If your goal was the North, it belonged to me and – stupid little girl I was – half-belonged to you. Even if we found Bran or Rickon, <em>I </em>was the undisputed heir. What purpose did you have by betraying me?”</p><p>
  <em>When you could have married me yourself. </em>
</p><p>She didn’t say it. But Sansa’s heart screamed it so loudly, blood rushed to her ears, drowning out all other sound like the roar of an ocean filling her head.</p><p>
  <em>Why did you give me away when you could have kept me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wasn’t I enough? </em>
</p><p>The lump in her throat was the size of a fist.</p><p>She wished she hadn’t closed her eyes. By the time she reopened them, Littlefinger’s mask reappeared.</p><p>She’d been a fool to show him her hand. He’d never show his.</p><p>Of course he had nothing to say. Of course.</p><p>She thought it impossible, yet in the last two seconds she wanted to kill him even more.</p><p>“I need to examine you.”</p><p>Heart hammering, it took all of Sansa’s concentration to school her face into a shield. She had to look away to do it, which only set her gaze upon the rows of leather paddles on the wall.</p><p>
  <em>Deep breaths. </em>
</p><p>At the rustling noise, she looked back at Petyr to find he’d produced a knife from somewhere, and her blood froze. The blade caught the light and glinted once, sharp, carrying the promise of unbearable torture Sansa knew too well. Ramsey had shown her how her skin was not, in fact, steel.</p><p>Petyr’s face changed into something like alarm. Feigned concern. She blinked and he was close to her.</p><p>“Sansa, stay with me.”</p><p>
  <em>What did he say?</em>
</p><p>He spoke through a tunnel. Petyr’s hands cupped her cheeks. He lied so well.</p><p>“Look at me. Stay with me.”</p><p>She heard him better now. She blinked a few times.</p><p>“You’re so pale,” Petyr said, searching her face. “You were going to faint.”</p><p><em>I was,</em> Sansa realized, feeling a little less woozy. <em>I wish I had.</em> Sometimes it delayed the pain.</p><p>Petyr didn’t let go of her face. His thumb stroked her cheek softly, but the movement felt connected to her heart, like he’d taken the knife and cut the same path across her fragile organ.</p><p>Sansa screwed her eyes shut against any tears that might leak.</p><p>“I would never hurt you.”</p><p>Her eyes flew open. A sick laugh tore from her throat.</p><p>Petyr released her face.</p><p>“That’s rich coming from you, <em>Lord Baelish.</em> Did you forget -- you threatened to hurt me as soon as you walked in the room.”</p><p>Sighing, Petyr stepped back. He paused, and if Sansa didn’t know better she’d think he needed a moment to collect his thoughts. She couldn’t tell if he was frustrated with her or himself.</p><p>“Let’s start again, shall we?”</p><p>He placed the knife on the nearest table and unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeve.</p><p>“I need to remove your clothes, Sansa. I need to cut them off. That’s all.”</p><p>
  <em>That’s all? </em>
</p><p>It certainly was to him. He couldn’t have sounded more cavalier about it. Petyr began rolling up his sleeves. Sansa tried not to look, and failed. Even something as minor as his bare forearms distracted her.</p><p>“It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.”</p><p>His voice raised at the end of the statement, almost testing. Sansa wasn’t sure what to make of it. Was he asking how much she’d changed, physically, since he’d last seen her?</p><p>She stared at him, something between a confused frown and disgust on her face, and for a moment he stared back.</p><p>“I’ll make you a deal. Don’t fight me. Let me remove only your shirt, your pants. I won’t cut you.”</p><p>“Because you kept your word so well in the past.” It wasn’t a question. “Only a fool would trust Littlefinger. No, thank you.”</p><p>“If you don’t stay still, I might accidentally hurt you.”</p><p>That was a threat, she knew it. And by the gleam in his eye, he knew she knew it.</p><p>
  <em>I hope you slip and cut yourself. </em>
</p><p>Petyr was right though. She hated it that he was always right.</p><p>Sansa turned her head, pretending the loss of her modesty had no effect whatsoever.</p><p>
  <em>I hope you burn in hell. </em>
</p><p>When Petyr approached again with his knife, his nearness assaulted all her senses, her body hyperaware of his presence. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the fine wrinkles around his, could smell the musk of his skin, could feel his firm and familiar hands titling her head aside, out of the way.</p><p>But this time, there was something new. As if another sense stirred, fluttering in her belly, stoked by his closeness.</p><p>
  <em>It’s just been a long time, that’s all. </em>
</p><p>The casual confidence in movements used to make her swoon. Petyr slid the knife under the collar of her jacket and cut upwards, freeing her arm from the sleeve. He repeated the process on the other arm. With two swift cuts he removed her camisole, leaving only her bra.</p><p>The air upon her torso cooled some of the feverish sweat threatening to break out all over her skin.</p><p>Petyr returned the knife to the table, conspicuously, but if he expected her to be grateful he was sorely mistaken.</p><p>
  <em>I’m going to kill you the moment my hands are free. Thanks for the knife. </em>
</p><p>When he approached again, Sansa squeezed her eyes shut. The slow, torturous unveiling of her body was worse than Ramsey’s way.</p><p>“I hope you go to hell, Petyr.”  </p><p>She didn’t open her eyes to see his reaction.</p><p>When his hands reached the button on her pants, she tried to kick her feet free.</p><p>Slowly, Petyr pulled the leather down her legs, revealing her underwear beneath. Thank the gods she’d worn a full black bra and panties - not a thong.</p><p>Instinctively trying to cover herself, Sansa tugged her ropes while Petyr slid her pants down to her ankles, kneeling. The action brought his head, his <em>face,</em> near to the region between her legs and a strange feeling she did <em>not </em>want to examine shot through Sansa’s chest.</p><p>Did Petyr pause?</p><p><em>Move,</em> Sansa prayed.</p><p>It was only a fraction of a second, but Sansa had the horrifying notion that he might smell her.</p><p>Petyr couldn’t slide her leggings off, Sansa realized, as he rose. They bunched at her feet like a wayward child caught with her pants down, making her feel even more ridiculous.</p><p>Shame and fury both washed over her. To be helpless <em>again,</em> to this detestable excuse for a man. She didn’t need to look to know <em>he </em>did. She felt his gaze on every inch of her skin, feasting, greedy, as he had <em>no right.</em></p><p>Sansa jumped when Petyr’s hand touched the scars on her stomach, tracing them. She watched him, studying her body with concentration.</p><p>
  <em>Feeling guilty? Good. </em>
</p><p>After a moment, he reached for her bra.</p><p><em>“Don’t,”</em> Sansa protested, knowing it wouldn’t do any good.</p><p>Petyr peeled back the cups, one at a time. Though he did nothing more than peak, it fanned the blush on her cheeks.</p><p>And, <em>oh gods,</em> she begged her nipples not to harden.</p><p>Quickly satisfied, he replaced the material.</p><p>Petyr moved behind her.  </p><p>He found it, of course. It couldn’t be missed.</p><p>His thumb touched the top of the scar, near her neck. The long one, trailing all the way down the center of her back. He followed its path, gingerly, and Sansa shivered.</p><p><em>Move and I’ll cut your spine,</em> Ramsey had said.</p><p>The others might heal. Ramsey Bolton didn’t like her skin marked. But that one. That one would stay forever.</p><p>
  <em>“Mmph.”</em>
</p><p>The close-lipped cry came from Sansa’s throat as she felt the backs of Petyr’s fingers dip into the waistband of her underwear.  </p><p>Ramrod-straight she held herself, while he tugged the elastic away from her flesh, pulling outward – but not down.</p><p>
  <em>How much could he see?</em>
</p><p>It reminded Sansa of when her dermatologist did a full-body check, making sure no moles had turned cancerous on her pale skin. But the gaze of her balding, elderly doctor did not have the effect of Petyr’s, searing her backside.</p><p>He pulled further on her waistband, allowing access to look lower, and again, Sansa involuntarily squealed.</p><p>There was nothing she could do about it. He was going to look at her rear whether she liked it or not.</p><p>
  <em>Curious though, that he isn’t taking my underwear off. </em>
</p><p>Petyr let the waistband fall back into place. Momentarily, his fingers traced upwards on her skin, somewhere between an accident and a <em>caress, </em>causing her to jump again.</p><p>Petyr stepped back around to her front. He met her eyes and though she couldn’t read the expression there – he wore the mask again – she knew what he intended.</p><p>The only place he hadn’t looked.</p><p>
  <em>No, no, no. </em>
</p><p>His gaze trailed downward, slowly.</p><p>“No, wait!” Sansa cried, gyrating her hips away.  </p><p>Petyr didn’t wait.</p><p>He held her waist with one hand and with the other, pulled the material back from her panties again, this time in front.</p><p>Sansa felt the heat from her reddened cheeks spread from neck to forehead. Tucking her face to her shoulder to hide, <em>she </em>had no choice but to wait while Petyr looked freely at the most private area of her body.</p><p>She clenched her teeth so hard she thought she’d shatter them.</p><p>And still her nipples hardened.</p><p>Sansa was smart to be scared of Littlefinger, of being tied up in his playroom. But the fear that turned her blood to ice throughout the ordeal melted – a result of a growing fire coursing through her veins. Rage from the way Petyr took what he wanted from her body without her permission.</p><p>Did he think she was the same girl as before?</p><p>She absolutely was not.</p><p>Even though, as Petyr’s eyes continued to violate the area between her legs, it felt as warm as if he’d placed his hand there.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What are you doing?”</p><p>Sansa enunciated each word as Petyr’s fingers massaged her scalp. She froze, as if touching her there was more upsetting than somewhere restricted on her body.</p><p>“Searching your hair for any pins you might have been using to pick the locks.”</p><p>It was the truth.</p><p>It was a lie.</p><p>He wanted to run his hands through her hair.</p><p>“I’m sure you’re well aware I had a look at the security cameras.”</p><p>Facing her again, he commanded brusquely, “Open your mouth.”</p><p>She stared daggers at him a long moment before deciding to comply.</p><p>Petyr titled her head back, pressing between her teeth to keep her jaw open. He was looking both for tools she might have wedged there, as well as any possible suicide pill she’d hidden in the recess of her mouth. Before he’d seen her contemplate jumping off his terrace, he knew the girl had a death wish to have the audacity to try to kill him in the first place.</p><p>Finding nothing remarkable between her straight, white teeth, or underneath that temping pink tongue, Petyr let her go.</p><p>The next part was trickier.</p><p>“I can’t have you hurting yourself. And I certainly can’t have you trying to kill me.”</p><p>He paused, scrunching his lips to the side.</p><p>“I’m going to ask you a question. If I’m satisfied by the answer, I will do no more than ask.”</p><p>Petyr watched Sansa visibly steel herself at the warning in his tone. Smart girl.</p><p>Ensuring she knew exactly what he implied, he steeped close to her, so close his body nearly brushed hers.</p><p>He could <em>see </em>how his nearness made her panic, but he couldn’t fully grasp the <em>why.</em></p><p>Curious, Petyr placed his hand on her bare hip and as before, she shivered. As before, she immediately scowled at her body’s reaction.</p><p>He let his lip curl into a smirk. So that there could be no doubt, his hand drifted lower as he asked, “Are you hiding anything anywhere else on your body that I might need to check? Think carefully, Sansa. Tell me the truth and I won’t need to explore. Lie to me and… well, I’ll have to be <em>thorough.”</em></p><p>He watched her eyes widen in fear… and maybe something else?</p><p>
  <em>Interesting. </em>
</p><p>Her features changed, the struggle playing out across them, until defeated, she hung her head and nodded.</p><p>“I’ll make you a deal,” he said, for the second time that night. “Go quietly into the cage behind you and don’t fight me. Remove… whatever it is you have hiding from wherever it is on your body, and hand it over to me. If you do this, then I won’t examine you. You have my word.”</p><p>He let his voice fall low, hard.</p><p>“Make any sudden moves and not only will I need to check every cavity, Lothor will hold you down so that I can do it. Do you understand me, Sansa?”</p><p>Her eyes – wide with fear and fury - looked into his and she nodded vigorously.</p><p>It was the truth. She’d comply. For now.</p><p>Was he disappointed? She tried to kill him, after all. Holding her down and inspecting her was only a start to the treatment she deserved.</p><p>The fact was, he felt a stirring in his cock the moment he walked into the playroom. He’d been fully erect since he began stripping her.</p><p>Sansa looked straight ahead, gaze hard, and Petyr glimpsed the calculation behind her eyes. She was biding her time, like before.</p><p>Maybe he’d get the chance to punish her after all. Not that he needed further reason but… there was something satisfying about doling out a punishment based on consequences she understood, penalties she’d earned herself.</p><p>
  <em>Alright, sweetling. I can play this game. I designed the rules to begin with. </em>
</p><p>“I’m going to untie you. You will remove your pants and walk into the cage.”</p><p>Sansa nodded, gaze still somewhere far away.</p><p>Petyr breathed one soft laugh through his nose.</p><p>He walked to the small wet bar he kept in the playroom and turned his back on Sansa, pouring water into a glass. He returned to the bound girl, holding out the offering.</p><p>“I know you’re thirsty, but I’d advise you not to drink too much. I regret that there’s not more than a cot and a chamber pot in the cage.”</p><p>He allowed the words to taunt. A kindness, a challenge, a warning.</p><p>A misdirection.</p><p>Let her do with it what she would.</p><p>Licking her dry lips, Sansa eyed the glass longingly. She’d have to drink something sooner or later. Dehydrated, she wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight.</p><p>Petyr raised his eyebrow in question and finally, she nodded.</p><p>
  <em>Good girl. </em>
</p><p>He tipped the glass to her lips and she drank a few large gulps before he pulled it away, ignoring for his own sake the liquid that spilled onto her chest and ran down the curves of her breasts.</p><p>Petyr withdrew his gun from the waistband at the back of his pants. Keeping it on Sansa, he uncuffed her feet and untied her arms with his free hand.</p><p><em>Immediately,</em> her eyes shifted to the door, though she quickly darted them back and pretended to be focused on rubbing out the ache in her wrists.</p><p>
  <em>For Christ’s sake, he held a gun. And even if he didn’t, she wouldn’t make it past him.</em>
</p><p>Petyr blinked, shaking his head.  </p><p>“There’s a heavy sedative in the water you just drank.”</p><p>Her panicked eyes lifted to his at the revelation.</p><p>“It’s a proprietary concoction we’ve been working on. You’re going to be fast asleep in four or five minutes. Six, max. If you try to run, how far do you think you’ll get before you collapse? What do you think I’m going to do to you when I find you… where? Downstairs? Maybe even an alleyway? Maybe someone else would find your first. Maybe that would be a kinder fate.”</p><p>Sansa’s voice was a whisper.</p><p>“You son of a bitch.”</p><p>“In the cage, Sansa. Now.”</p><p>Her face fell. Then, if he wasn’t mistaken, terror flashed across it.</p><p>Sansa’s leaden feet took halting steps toward the cage. Even from behind he could see her entire torso rise and fall with audible, panicked breaths.</p><p>“Not the… cage…” she was babbling, as if she spoke to herself, as if she couldn’t stop the words. “I can’t…”</p><p>But she forced herself to walk through the door, and Petyr quickly shut and locked it behind her. He tucked his gun into his waistband at the small of his back.</p><p>“He… he… used to put me in a cage.”</p><p><em>Ramsey,</em> Petyr guessed. Whatever tortures she endured must have involved caging at some point.</p><p>Sansa turned around to face him, her whole body shaking. She paled, her lip quivered, her eyes darted about for something to hold onto.</p><p><em>"Pety-”</em> she began to cry his name before a sob cut it off. Sansa’s long, thin arms stretched out through the bars.</p><p>Her plaintive cry was his undoing. She was going to faint again, he could see it on her face.</p><p>It took two steps for Petyr to press himself against her. Through the bars he held her slight, trembling form in his arms -- one upon her back, one weaving into her hair and cupping her head from behind.</p><p>“Shh…” he soothed, feeling gratified when she nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck. Her arms reached for him, encircling his waist.</p><p>He knew. He knew.</p><p>But, fuck. He knew a second too late.</p><p>“Move and I’ll shoot your ass, Petyr. Maybe I’ll even hit your spine.”</p><p>He felt her hand on his gun, tucked into the waistband of his pants.</p><p>“I’ll assume this one’s loaded.”</p><p>He could hear the smile in her voice.</p><p>Slowly, Petyr raised his arms in surrender for what may have been the third time that night. He’d fucking lost count. He wondered why she <em>didn’t</em> shoot, she’d been so hell-bent on killing him before.</p><p>Was it just because she needed him to escape the cage?</p><p>“Be reasonable,” he argued, licking his lips. “How far do you think you’ll make it, Sansa? That sedative is working its way through your bloodstream as we speak. You’ve got minutes.”</p><p>“Stop trying to buy time,” she growled. “Open this cage now Petyr. Grab my arms or make a sudden move and this could get very messy. For you.”</p><p>Sansa kept the gun – his own damn gun - trained on him while Petyr pulled away from her, unlocked the cage door, and stepped back.</p><p>With her head held high, she exited, remarking, “You always were such a gentleman, Lord Baelish. Opening doors for ladies.”</p><p><em>Once that pill knocks you out you’re going find out just how much of a </em>gentle man<em> I am not. </em></p><p>At her nudging, Petyr stepped into the cage.</p><p>“You’re an intelligent girl, Sansa. Use reason. You will be unconscious in minutes. You can’t stop it. Where will you go?”</p><p>“You told Lothor not to return all night,” Sansa said, slamming the door behind him and locking it. She slid the key into the cup of her bra. “I know for a fact this room is soundproof and has no cameras. I’ll… I’ll wait it out.”</p><p>She paused, seeming to debate with herself.</p><p>“I need you to strip.”</p><p>Petyr raised his eyebrows.</p><p>“Do it!”</p><p>He hadn’t anticipated that command. <em>And curious that she hadn’t killed him yet.</em> Was she keeping him alive as assurance?</p><p>Petyr gave her a saucy look as he unbuttoned and removed his shirt. Not appreciating it in the least, Sansa narrowed her eyes. But her cheeks pinked.</p><p>He removed his smart, black shoes, his black socks. He unbuckled his belt and let his trousers fall to the ground.</p><p>“Give them to me,” Sansa said, holding out a hand.</p><p>She averted her eyes. She didn’t <em>want </em>to look at him.</p><p>
  <em>How interesting. </em>
</p><p>Wearing only his black boxer-briefs and an erection, Petyr slid his discarded clothing through the bars of the cage and into her hands.</p><p>He watched her shuffle through them, looking for anything useful. Her own clothing now torn, she nearly put his shirt on to cover herself up, then thought better of it.</p><p>“Shall I remove my briefs as well?” he asked, blinking.  </p><p>“No!”</p><p>One side of Petyr’s lip curled.</p><p>She held the gun. He held the power.</p><p>Some of it, at least.</p><p>“T- turn around,” Sansa commanded. Then, more firmly, “press against the bars.”</p><p>Petyr worked his jaw, then turned, reluctantly. He wasn’t <em>positive </em>Sansa didn’t plan on shooting him. Perhaps she’d lost some nerve and couldn’t pull the trigger looking him in the eyes. He wasn’t afraid to die, but he didn’t want to do it with his back turned.</p><p>Instead, he was so surprised to find her small hands between his legs, he laughed.</p><p>Clearly, she didn’t want to frisk him, but it seemed the lesser of two evils.</p><p><em>He </em>nearly shivered when Sansa ran her fingers down the cleft between his buttocks. He closed his eyes and swallowed thickly when that same hand reached further, feeling around his balls and at the base of his now-throbbing erection.</p><p>He’d love to know what ran through her pretty little head at that.</p><p>He should shut his mouth. He really should.</p><p>“If you truly want to play that game, sweetling, drop the gun. It would be improved with the use of both hands. Though I’m sure you’ve noticed your one hand doesn’t displease me. Are you pleased to please me, sweetling?”</p><p>A rush of air and then, his comment earned Petyr a hard smack to the side of his head with the butt of the gun.</p><p>
  <em>Shit. </em>
</p><p>He hissed through the pain. Thankfully, from the angle of the bars, Sansa couldn’t get enough range to thoroughly pistol-whip him, or he was sure she would have knocked him out.</p><p>It was rather unadvised on her part. Further provoking him. All he had to do was wait until she fell asleep…</p><p>… although Petyr supposed he’d started it by baiting her. It wasn’t doing much to help him remain in one piece until she collapsed.  </p><p>When Petyr turned around, he saw Sansa eyeing the door, weighing her options. She was also swaying on her feet, drowsy.</p><p>“It’s a marvelous contraption. You can lock the playroom from the inside or out,” he offered helpfully. “I’d be happy to provide the code.”</p><p>Sansa turned to him, glowering, sure there was a trick.  </p><p>Petyr shrugged.</p><p>Ignoring him, she dragged a chair across the room and propped it beneath the doorknob, cinema-style. As if that would work. As if that would keep Lothor at bay.</p><p>“I don’t think a chair will stop Brune,” he pointed out.</p><p>“Shut up,” Sansa said, slurring. “I need to think.”</p><p>She sank to her knees.</p><p>“It doesn’t matter,” she dismissed, torso swaying. “This room is soundproof and he’s not coming in until you leave. You said so yourself.”</p><p>She slumped to the floor as the sedative took over. Her eyes closed as she spoke.</p><p>“I just need to sleep this off and then, when I wake up, I’m using you to get out of here. You get to live a little longer, Petyr. Until I can… I can…”</p><p>Sansa didn’t finish. Her pale body sprawled on the dark tile, a sleeping beauty in nothing but knickers.</p><p>For a moment, Petyr watched her, so peaceful in slumber.</p><p>Then he let himself out of the cage.</p><p>#</p><p>Sansa’s hysterics the next morning were <em>astounding.</em> She opened her eyes and tuned white as a ghost find herself on the wrong side of the bars.</p><p>If he hadn’t been so shocked to his core, Petyr would have smirked to watch the scene unfold. He should have found it amusing.</p><p>Sansa <em>howled. </em>Her face grew bright red in anger.</p><p>Petyr had fully planned on relishing the moment.</p><p>Instead, he sat in the deep, leather chair, staring at her curiously.  </p><p>He’d been there all night, dozing off for no more than an hour, at most. Mulling over what transpired after he’d used a hidden key to escape his cage.</p><p>Petyr had carried Sansa, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, to take his place inside. He hadn’t realized her state of somnambulism until he laid her down on the cot.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He brushed her hair out of the way so that she’d be more comfortable as she slept, and the red splayed out like a fiery halo behind her. But her face, untroubled in slumber, seemed angelic to him. Long lashes rested upon the tops of pale cheeks. Her lips, pink and plump, just slightly parted. </em>
</p><p><em>Just because he </em>shouldn’t, <em>was never reason enough to stop Petyr. </em></p><p>
  <em>He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, softly. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Petyr,” Sansa whisper-cried, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, something in her voice like a caress to his heart. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Her eyes remained closed, but her arms reached out, seeking. When she found him, she held on, arching her chest and tilting her head – a plea for another kiss. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sparing only a moment to search her face and dismissing another trap, Petyr leaned back down and kissed the half-dreaming Sansa, sparing no restraint. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It blew him away – Petyr almost felt something electric, an invisible current charging the air between them with unseen energy. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Petyr,” Sansa moaned when he broke away. Writhing her hips, as if she wanted more from him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dumbstruck, he propped himself up to look at Sansa. As he watched, the drug fully claimed and settled her back into a deep slumber. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But not before she whispered again, with a heated longing that went straight to his cold heart -</em></p><p>“Petyr.” 
</p><p> </p><p>He’d been sitting in the leather chair since that moment. More dumbfounded than gloating, as he watched Sansa pace her cage. Only half-hearing the insults she hurled at him.</p><p>He’d had all night to process the truth and he still felt as shell-shocked as when he’d first begun to accept it.</p><p>That wasn’t the Sansa he used to know.</p><p>It was un-fucking-believable, yet he believed Bran.</p><p>Reasoning, DNA tests, the marks on her skin – all of it fell to the wayside.</p><p>Like a school boy, it was the damn kiss that convinced him.</p><p>The room filled with the jangling of metal as Sansa shook the cage door, a vain attempt at breaking the bars.  </p><p>Petyr rubbed his hand over his beard.</p><p>He knew two things with certainty.</p><p>One, he was going to have to convince the enraged creature before him of the impossible bend in reality that somehow brought her here.</p><p>Two, she could never leave his condo. Someone still wanted Sansa dead. Until he convinced her of the truth, she’d remain here, his prisoner.</p><p>He watched her pick up and throw the cot against the walls of her cage.</p><p>His furious prisoner.</p><p>Petyr allowed himself a small smirk at one thought.</p><p>Sansa would soon be <em>livid </em>when she realized that, while she slept, he had no choice but to find and remove the lock pick she’d hidden inside her.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I want to take a moment to acknowledge all the "crossover" themes for this fic, which I also hope help explain what my writing may not be sufficiently doing! They're not so much a crossovers into a particular world, just the use of tropes or inspirations from other shows. </p><p>Timeline crack isn't unique, but for me came in part from the imaginings of Once Upon a Time or The Magicians, although for whatever reason the movie The Adjustment Bureau really played into the idea. </p><p>Unlike OUAT and The Magicians, where wholly separate "other" entities exist, with different personalities, I wanted Sansa to be more like a "copy." Kind of the way it is in the Dr. Who episode The Girl Who Waited, although it's been a long time since I've seen that. So that minor differences in events or decisions have a ripple effect that do change Petyr and Sansa's personalities, but they're still the same people, same "copies." This will hopefully allow for some Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind vibes to come out later. </p><p>The playroom in this fic is poking a little bit of fun at 50 Shades of Gray, and the cage is having some fun with the TV You, which I can't fully remember but I know the evil guy locked up his girl, who somehow tricked him in escaping, and he was then locked in &amp; escaped his own cage, because of a hidden key. I definitely want to acknowledge this particular scene because, though this is fanfic and canon is used, I borrowed the idea straight from there/from another show's canon.</p><p>Lastly, I just want to add a reminder that updates for this fic are going to be slow. Thank you so much for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>THIS. WAS. HARD.</p>
<p>There's what Petyr knows, what Sansa knows, what Bran knows. Slightly different from what Petyr, Sansa, and Bran *think* they know. Which is different from what they've yet told one another. Which is different from what I've yet told in the story... and on top of that, I have the memory/attention span of a goldfish.</p>
<p>As a result, on my first draft, I forgot to mention some important information that was just in my head. Also because I was trying to cut the crack exposition short and move along to the sexy scenes, but unfortunately, there's a lot of housekeeping here, not a lot of sexy times. </p>
<p>However, they're coming! I might update the tags because future dark dubcon might smack of rape, and I want to warn appropriately. Or it may not. I don't know how certain scenes will unfold, I just know that I want Petyr and Sansa free to do whatever they want to each other.</p>
<p>Oh, and POV changes from Petyr to Sansa in the last part of this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Don’t fight in the North, or the South. Fight every battle, everywhere, always, in your mind. Everyone is your enemy, everyone is your friend, every possible series of events is happening all at once. Live that way and nothing will surprise you. Everything that happens will be something that you’ve seen before.</em>
</p>
<p>Petyr templed his fingers, replaying his own advice.</p>
<p>He’d meant only the visualizing of simultaneous events, not the <em>literal </em>occurrence on some other plane of existence. Was everything happening at once, an endless number of times? Infinite worlds spliced and bridged by… Bran? Like a glitch in the matrix?</p>
<p>Why and to what end?</p>
<p>Putting their kiss from his mind, Petyr’s mouth formed a thin line as he considered Sansa. In a complete reversal to her morning fit, the girl before him sat quietly on the cage floor, cross-legged, sharp eyes staring coldly. Her long hair, only slightly disheveled, fell down her back.</p>
<p>Was she an enemy or a friend?</p>
<p>He had no doubt where he stood in her mind.</p>
<p>Licking his lips he pondered, <em>how to begin?</em></p>
<p>Petyr stood, and Sansa’s blue eyes carefully followed.</p>
<p>“Coffee?” he offered, as if the cage between them were but a conference table, and a business presentation was about to commence.</p>
<p>#</p>
<p>Untouched, beverage long since cooled, Sansa’s espresso glass rested just outside the cage. He’d made the latte to perfection with his five-thousand dollar La Marzocco machine. Not personally, of course, but he’d ordered Brune to brew a cup the way Sansa used to like it. The man was quick to obey, knowing his employer’s short temper after Lothor’s fumble the night before.</p>
<p>Perhaps Petyr should have served Sansa something less complex. Black coffee, plain mug? He rubbed his beard. Truthfully, he didn’t know what she liked, all the unfamiliar recesses of her mind…</p>
<p>That was something Petyr didn’t like.</p>
<p>He’d taken the time to shower and change into a long-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of jeans; casual, but fitted. Purposefully. The gray shirt stretched across his chest. Because obviously, something happened between Sansa and the other Petyr; he clearly had an effect on her, and fuck it, it was only fair because she certainly affected him.</p>
<p>The shower washed the lingering filth from his body. It did nothing for his mind.  </p>
<p>Soaping his shoulders, he wondered if Sansa would request a shower. He wondered if he should simply force her into one. Common sense dictating he keep her cuffed while he cleaned her off. Making sure to thoroughly soap her dirtiest parts…</p>
<p>Petyr cleared his throat to redirect his own attention.</p>
<p>
  <em>No point wasting any more time. </em>
</p>
<p>Setting down his coffee, he took a breath and began the long tale she needed to hear, beginning with his hiding of the other Sansa, and up until she reappeared in his foyer with a gun pointed at his head. He spared no detail about his remarkable encounter with Bran, in the cabin. He did spare details about his remarkable encounter with Sansa, on the terrace.</p>
<p>Petyr watched Sansa’s eyes widen, even glisten, when he started. Not in sorrow, not believing. Her chest rose and fell with a sigh. As if she had to humor his lie. As if listening to him spin an impossible tale was one more unpleasantness to suffer in a never-ending chain.</p>
<p>Petyr could pinpoint the exact second she made up her mind to shield herself, a porcelain veneer coating steel resolve. Her reactions simply ceased; her face blanked.</p>
<p>
  <em>When had she mastered that utter perfection?</em>
</p>
<p>No matter what he said – theorizing about the time-space continuum, explaining gruesome details of the other Sansa’s death - she didn’t so much as blink out of turn.</p>
<p>He wondered if she’d learned to mask her emotions from <em>him,</em> in the other world, or from surviving whatever she endured at the Ramsay boy’s hands.</p>
<p>When he finished, Petyr felt as if he’d entirely wasted his breath -- a feeling he wasn’t used to and didn’t much care for.</p>
<p>Worse, if he were being truly honest… his eyes roved over Sansa’s nearly-naked form as he spoke, leaving him wondering if he came to the end of the talk more affected than she. He couldn’t keep the night before from creeping back to his mind every time he looked at her lips, pink and plump and begging for a bruising kiss. The long line of her neck taunted him to the teeth; he wanted to bite it, mark it. Her cross-legged position left only a thin layer of black fabric between his gaze and her cunt.</p>
<p>Did she do it to provoke him or did she simply no longer care? He had to physically stop himself from biting his thumb whenever his eyes darted low, remembering her warmth as he slid his fingers into her yielding folds while she slept.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck. </em>
</p>
<p>All he could think about was doing it again. Restrained, so she was just as defenseless to stop him, but this time, alert. Providing him the enjoyment of pleasure playing out on her face, hearing her soft cries, her throaty moans.</p>
<p>He felt like Clarice fucking Starling; Sansa his caged Hannibal. He didn’t know her intimately enough guess what went on in that pretty little head. If only for the moment, he wanted something from her more than she wanted something from him.</p>
<p>Maybe he wanted her under him as much as she wanted him under the ground.</p>
<p>
  <em>Maybe it’s safer if I put her there first. </em>
</p>
<p>Although Petyr wasn’t even sure if “there” meant safely beneath his body or beneath the dirt.</p>
<p>He conceded three serious disadvantages. One, this Sansa wouldn’t be persuaded with sweet words. Two, she wasn’t like to be fooled by the illusion of control, at least not a second time. Three – and he disliked liked this one the most - she might know some of his moves better than he knew hers. An imbalance he wanted to flip.</p>
<p>He scrunched his lips to the side. He’d planned to keep her caged for several days, for as long as it took to calm her down. <em>Break her down. </em>He intended on taking as many liberties as he pleased with her confinement. She tried to kill him, after all; mercy could only go so far. And there were so many <em>interesting </em>ways to motivate her, all available at his fingertips in this particular room.</p>
<p>But then he’d kissed her and, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t deny that it undid everything logical he believed to be true.</p>
<p>
  <em>Leave it to the goddamn descendants of Hoster Tully to be the ones to tilt his world on its axis again. History repeating itself. </em>
</p>
<p>Now, he didn’t just need her to talk. He needed her to listen. And her posture of stoic quietude displayed an intractable unwillingness to hear him out.</p>
<p>Petyr was going to have to gamble.</p>
<p>To take power, he had to give her power. A measure. Temporarily. With mutually assured destruction as the guarantee. </p>
<p>He needed to voluntarily risk himself.</p>
<p>“I’m going to let you out of the cage,” he told her. “I ask only that we speak without inflicting violence upon one another.”</p>
<p>
  <em>No reaction. </em>
</p>
<p>He nearly grinned.</p>
<p>
  <em>She was good when she wanted to be.</em>
</p>
<p>At the sudden turn of events, she simply stood. Without urgency. Waiting.</p>
<p>
  <em>Good thing I’m better. </em>
</p>
<p>Petyr unlocked the cage and stepped back.</p>
<p>
  <em>Good thing I’m a betting man. </em>
</p>
<p>Sansa lunged straight for the knife he’d left on the table. He figured as much.</p>
<p>When she grabbed his body and spun him, when she held his back to her chest - he did not resist. Not even when she brought the knife to his throat.</p>
<p>Petyr swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the blade.</p>
<p>Like the previous evening, <em>she hesitated.</em></p>
<p>“It will be very difficult for us to talk if you cut my throat. Might I suggest a gun? Have you ever handled a Beretta Px4 Storm? There’s a false bottom in the lower drawer there. The one with the anal beads. Lift it and you’ll find a loaded gun beneath.”</p>
<p>Sansa paused. He felt her breath caress his neck, the back of his ear. He imagined feeling it under different circumstances.</p>
<p>“Whatever happened in the past, I’m trying to help you now, Sansa. I’m trying to protect you. You must believe me when I tell you, someone wants to kill you. I need you to trust me.”</p>
<p>It had been so long since she spoke, Petyr welcomed even her furious words.</p>
<p>“I don’t believe you anymore, I don’t need you to protect me anymore. You can’t even protect yourself if I decide to cut your throat. Why shouldn’t I?”</p>
<p>“Think it through, I know you can. Even if you kill me now, you’ll never make it out of the condo alive. Lothor will shoot you dead before you reach the door and I can promise, even if you made it outside, you won’t last long on the street.”</p>
<p>The sharp edge of the knife pressed harder against his skin.</p>
<p>“A gun is handier than a knife, I’m sure you’ll agree. Maybe you’ll live a little longer if you have one. Take it. All I ask is that you let me speak while you hold it.”</p>
<p>A firm hand at his back pushed Petyr forward as Sansa quickly backed toward the set of drawers, kneeling and using one hand to dig for the hidden compartment.</p>
<p>No one needed that many anal beads stuffed into a drawer. It was a giveaway to anyone smart enough to note the unusual volume and disorder. Luckily, no one he brought to his playroom ever benefitted from much intelligence.</p>
<p>Clasping her hands around the Beretta, Sansa stowed the knife in its place, perhaps having nowhere to stash it on herself, wearing so little.</p>
<p>She checked the magazine, the barrel, then rose; a pale angel of death, pointing the gun at his chest.</p>
<p>
  <em>She had the power, now, the promise… </em>
</p>
<p>Petyr tapped his tongue along the bottom of his teeth. Things were about to get more complicated.</p>
<p>“Your sister and your brothers are alive.”</p>
<p><em>Finally,</em> he saw a crack in her mask – she flinched. Brow knit, confused, she tried to figure out his angle, the point of this new lie… and even, wrestle the wild hope that it was not.</p>
<p>Slowly, Petyr reached inside his pocket for his cell phone.</p>
<p>The power, the promise, <em>now the proof.</em>        </p>
<p>He placed it on the floor and kicked it to her.</p>
<p>“Go anywhere you like, check any sources, any social media. There’s recent news of your funeral. Your half-brother Jon will be harder to find. Last we heard he passed through Yukon, headed for Fort McPherson. Arya returns to college this fall, or she was planning to, before your death. She posts pictures with her boyfriend, Gendry. Mountain climbing, skydiving and the like, under the account Adrenaline Arya. Robb and Bran and Rickon are all gathered at the Stark compound right here in King’s Landing, right now. They’re alive, Sansa. They’re all alive.”</p>
<p>As he spoke, Sansa tapped on his phone awkwardly, using her left hand.</p>
<p>Petyr couldn’t tell where she went – he’d check later - but he could see the uncertainty and pain flit across her face. The gun fell loose in her hands, he could have easily taken it from her.</p>
<p>Petyr inferred that Robb had died in her world from what Sansa said about giving her to Ramsey for her claim. But Arya and Bran and Rickon… he could only guess were dead, or missing long enough to be presumed so, from her comments.</p>
<p>After a few minutes, Sansa stopped abruptly. She tossed his cell to the floor, likely cracking the screen.</p>
<p>“This is fake. Some sick joke. Low for even you, Petyr.”  </p>
<p>Her hand tightened on the gun.</p>
<p>“If you wanted me to spare your life, your little game had the opposite effect. I’m more inclined than ever to put a bullet in your head. Give me one good reason not to shoot you right now, Petyr.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Because you’re back from the dead, and it’s our second chance. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Because we kissed and it didn’t feel like anything I’d ever felt before.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Because you’re half-naked, holding my own Beretta to my head and I’m struggling not get an erection. </em>
</p>
<p>“Because my driver just arrived. Your brother Bran will be here in two minutes to tell you all this himself.”</p>
<p>#</p>
<p>When Lothor wheeled Bran into the playroom, Sansa’s mask crumbled.</p>
<p>She ran to her brother and drew him in a tight embrace, even as she demanded, “Get out! Leave! You have to get out of here.”</p>
<p>Watching Sansa nuzzle her cheek against her brother’s made Petyr feel something he hadn’t felt since he was a boy. Like he wanted to pry her arms from her sibling and move them to his shoulders.</p>
<p>The strange Stark kid had no reaction at all. Which not only disturbed Petyr, he found Bran’s stoicism severely disadvantageous. Everybody wanted something. Without it, he couldn’t figure out the right hold to manipulate the boy.</p>
<p>“This isn’t real,” Sansa murmured. “I’m dreaming, or – or, he gave me something in that drug to cause hallucinations…” she trailed off, her rational mind losing a battle against what she so badly desired. “Are they really alive? Jon and Arya and Robb and Rickon?”</p>
<p>“They’re alive.”</p>
<p>“Bran, we have to go.”</p>
<p>Raising the gun back at Petyr, Sansa ordered, “Let us go, right now.”</p>
<p>“He’s not keeping me here,” Bran said, gazing in the distance.</p>
<p>Sansa turned back to Petyr, eyes glistening. “You let him go, right now. I’ll stay, but you let him go.”</p>
<p>“Sansa.” Emotionless, Bran called his sister’s name, but it was enough to command her attention. “We need to talk.”</p>
<p>For several long seconds, her eyes darted back-and-forth between the two men. Petyr watched the wheels in her head spin.</p>
<p>Finally settling on him, she said, “I will listen to what Bran has to say, but I want to do it alone. You leave this room right now and let us speak.”</p>
<p>Petyr worked his jaw. That wasn’t his plan.</p>
<p>She was just like him. Given a little, she wanted to take more.</p>
<p>“I know you have a lot of questions for your brother. But we need to know more information about… the other you.”</p>
<p>Since releasing her from the cage, Petyr kept his voice low, soothing, as if he calmed a skittish animal. “You need to discuss more than your sister’s adventures. Someone wants you dead, Sansa. We need to know who murdered you and why you were in that alley to begin with.”</p>
<p>“Fine, deal We’ll discuss all that and more. If you leave us alone.”</p>
<p>Sansa squared her shoulders.</p>
<p>“And I want a shirt and I want to use the bathroom. And I want my own gun back. And I’m keeping this one.”</p>
<p>#</p>
<p>Petyr did as she asked.</p>
<p>Pouring a third cup of coffee and smoking his fifth cigarette, he regretted the decision not to install cameras within his condo. Only the hallway outside the unit, and the ceiling in his foyer contained surveillance. He’d been shuttered out of the conversation by his own gamble. Left in the dark as to what Sansa and her brother discussed for two hours and twenty-six fucking minutes.</p>
<p>For the first time since he was a boy, Petyr had no choice but to question if he’d overplayed his hand. His unfailing ability to see ten steps ahead dimmed in the face of goddamn magical time-traveling powers.</p>
<p>He made use of the time waiting to call in extra men to watch his building from the outside, in continuous shifts, day and night. He made another call to repair the bullet hole Sansa left in his entranceway.</p>
<p>At three hours and sixteen minutes, the playroom door finally opened.  </p>
<p>#</p>
<p>“Bran leaves here unharmed, now.” Sansa said.</p>
<p><em>Touch one hair on his head and I’ll shot you between the legs,</em> she thought. <em>Let you bleed out slowly.</em></p>
<p>She saw Petyr search her face and knew exactly what he was doing. Looking for clues as to what she discussed with her brother. Trying to figure out her emotional state. Always fucking angling.</p>
<p>There was a time, a world, where she liked that he did that. It made her feel deliciously vulnerable to him alone, and safe from everyone else.</p>
<p>That belief only led her right to Ramsey Bolton, courtesy of Petyr’s personal delivery service.</p>
<p>
  <em>Maybe I should let a bullet graze the skin of his bicep. Just enough to burn, to make him howl. </em>
</p>
<p>Petyr’s eyes never left hers. It gave Sansa the unsettling feeling that he knew what she’d just thought.</p>
<p>“Take Brandon Stark back to his cabin,” he told Lothor. The man was quick to obey, wheeling her brother out the playroom door.</p>
<p>“I’ll see you again,” Bran calmly told her.</p>
<p>As he departed, Sansa couldn’t help the longing gaze she cast at his back, while her heart beat a little faster to be left alone with Petyr.</p>
<p>He didn’t waste time jumping into questions.</p>
<p>“Does your brother know who killed you?”</p>
<p>Sansa took a breath, questioning once more if their decision to share with Petyr was the right one.  </p>
<p>“Bran has… visions. He can see the man who did it, but the murderer seems to have been acting on behalf of someone else. In order for Bran to find who gave the command, he has to search in time… I – I don’t fully understand it. But it’s not easy, and it takes the same amount of time as it does in our world. That is, if he spends an hour peering into the past, into the memories of this man, he loses an hour in the real world.”</p>
<p>Licking her lips, Sansa continued, “I came to King’s Landing to kill you, if you weren’t already dead. I’d heard rumors, but I was hoping it wasn’t the case. I want to be the one to kill you myself, Petyr.”</p>
<p>She made sure there was no mistaking the present tense.</p>
<p>“But someone attacked me, knocked me unconscious… when I woke up in the alley, I continued here, to your condo. That’s when I saw you on the subway. Or so I thought…”</p>
<p>Sansa chewed her lip, averting her eyes and shaking her head.</p>
<p>“Bran says that… while I was unconscious, he – this Bran, here – tried to go back to that moment and warn me. Supposedly, at your behest.” Sansa rolled her eyes at the last part.  </p>
<p>Scowling, she continued haltingly, “Instead, he – his mind – touched the other Bran’s mind, in my world. Somehow, it opened a pathway that brought me here…” Sansa brought her hand to her forehead, shaking it again, as uncomfortable with the impossibility as Petyr was. “Or so he thinks. I – I’m unclear, and I don’t think Bran fully understands either.”</p>
<p>Sansa paused again, then met Petyr’s eyes.</p>
<p>“Bran says our lives… my life… isn’t the priority. He says he can only spend so much time helping us, because it takes him away from the greater goal - finding and reconnecting with the other Bran.”</p>
<p>Sansa tried not to let Petyr see that her brother’s remarks hurt her.</p>
<p>“This is the deal,” she resolved. “I will stay with you until Bran lets me know he’s safe back at home.”</p>
<p>Petyr shook his head, eyes hard.</p>
<p>Sansa knew that look. She hated that look.</p>
<p>“You can’t leave this condo. Even your brother told you as much.”</p>
<p>“I make my own decisions now, Petyr. I told <em>you</em> as much.” She raised the gun to his head. “You can’t keep me here against my will.”</p>
<p>“Actually, I can. Do you think it’s Lothor alone who guards the building? Even if you killed me, you’d never make it across the street before one of my men picked you up. What do you think they’d do to the girl who killed their employer? Look around you. I’m sure this room would stoke their imagination.”</p>
<p>Sansa tried to cover her shudder by lifting her chin, but she knew Petyr noticed.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck!</em>
</p>
<p>It was just like before, history repeating itself. Petyr was forcing her dependency on him. This time, with even more to lose.</p>
<p>“I’m not staying here with you. I hate you, Petyr. You freed me from the monsters who murdered my family and you gave me to other monsters who murdered my family.”</p>
<p>“Your family is alive in this world. Most of it. And I’m not that man. I think I’ve been rather generous, considering.”</p>
<p>“No, that’s not how Bran explains it. You’re exactly the same, we’re exactly the same. Same people, same DNA. Different circumstances and events might have shaped our choices, but we’re still us, still the same person.”</p>
<p>“Tell me,” she ground out, clenching her teeth. “When the other Sansa came to you, was there a moment… did you consider giving her up to the Lannisters? To prove your loyalty, to improve your station?”</p>
<p>Petyr hesitated.</p>
<p>“I thought as much.”</p>
<p>“Sansa,” Petry said, narrowing his eyes. “I’m guessing your brother doesn’t want you to leave, that he advised you not to see your family. You don’t even know how to navigate this world-”</p>
<p>“Stop it, you’re doing it again! Making me reliant on you. You brought me here-”</p>
<p><em>“You</em> broke into my condo.”</p>
<p>“To kill you!”</p>
<p>“Yet I offer you hospitality and protection. Is that not generous?”</p>
<p>“You offer me a cage.”</p>
<p>“Call it what you like. You can have free reign of my home. But you can’t leave it.”</p>
<p>Sansa scrunched her eyes shut, clenching her jaw, feeling like she wanted to scream.</p>
<p>“I hope you die a terrible death, Petyr. I hope you die screaming.”</p>
<p>She didn't open her eyes as she said it for fear she'd find him smirking, having gotten his way yet again.</p>
<p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Suspiciously, Petyr left her alone on the terrace. Respecting personal space wasn’t one of his talents.</p><p>Patience, however, was something he’d fine-tuned… so perhaps it didn’t matter to him how long she stayed out there, staring at the skyline. Where would she go anyway?</p><p>Sansa couldn’t even blame Littlefinger entirely, that was the worst part. He was right; he hadn’t brought her here. Stupid little bird that she was had flown into the cage herself, right through the open door.</p><p>No, she’d gone so far as to <em>pick the lock and let herself in. </em></p><p>Idiot.</p><p>The back of Sansa’s neck tingled and she looked over her shoulder.</p><p>Behind the glass doors to his bedroom, she glimpsed him. Only half-shadowed by the curtain, he neither made an attempt to hide himself nor announced his presence.</p><p>
  <em>Right. That’s more Petyr-like. </em>
</p><p>Personal space was just an illusion.</p><p>And just the sort of <em>attention </em>that used to arouse her. Petyr stared down what he wanted like he planned to devour it whenever he was good and ready. He didn’t even need to attack. Petyr had a stillness about him, so perfectly natural, so intense, that he needn’t move a muscle to draw prey. Sometimes, the less he moved, the more she moved to him.</p><p>Sansa quickly snapped her head back to the skyline, chin raised.  </p><p>Twilight really brought out the beauty of Petyr’s terrace, just as stunning in this world. The sky turned shades of hot pink, never failing to strike Sansa as unlikely no matter how many times she watched a smoldering sunset. The lights of King’s Landing came to life, warm whites dotting the cityscape. Nearby, despite being thirty-two stories in the air, fireflies found a home in the gardens at her back.</p><p>And far ahead, the sea stretched endlessly. That unknowable distance used to beckon her. The promise of escape, of the disappearance somewhere beyond.</p><p>But a funny thing happened as she stared… she didn’t want to sail into oblivion any longer. Something anchored her to this world.</p><p>
  <em>The hope of seeing family again. </em>
</p><p>“Lady Sansa,” Petyr said, coming up behind her.</p><p>She flicked her gaze in his direction but did not turn her head from the vista.</p><p>“Titles won’t endear you to me. Don’t pretend you’re my servant or my white knight, here to aid in my hour of need.”</p><p>Petyr continued, undeterred, “I’ve taken the liberty of filling your closet. Clothes. Shoes. Sundries. Enough to get by. If you need anything else, just ask, and I’ll get it for you.”</p><p><em>He didn’t need to ask my size,</em> Sansa mused. Just <em>how </em>close was he to the other Sansa? <em>Did he order underwear as well? </em></p><p>Swallowing, Sansa refused to think about how he extracted the lock pick she’d hidden. <em>Refused.</em></p><p>“No matter the world, you seem adept at making sure I need you.”</p><p>Petyr didn’t reply.</p><p>She finally turned to him, <em>really </em>not wanting to. Gods, seeing him physically pained her. Like her heart had been clamped in a vice, and it squeezed harder with every glimpse of his face.</p><p>“I’ll stay and work with you to find my murderer -- only until he or she is dealt with and only because I want to see my family.” Sansa paused, then said, “You’re right, Bran… Bran doesn’t think it’s wise to tell them. Not yet.”</p><p>“He is unusually level-headed, for a Stark.”</p><p>Sansa glared, and Petyr <em>almost </em>wore a sheepish grin, like a naughty little boy apologizing for his quip. Almost.</p><p>#</p><p>“Your room,” Petyr directed, opening the door to the second bedroom, down the hall from his own.</p><p>Too fucking surreal.</p><p>Once, Sansa had one just like it in her world, including the wrought-iron bed.</p><p>She frowned.</p><p>Except no one had barred up the window in<em> that</em> room.</p><p>One window graced the far wall, about three feet wide and running floor-to-ceiling. Only now, someone nailed wooden planks horizontally across the glass.</p><p>Following her gaze, Petyr explained, “You tried to jump off the terrace. I thought it best to protect you from… yourself. Metalworkers will be here tomorrow to fit a more permanent solution.”</p><p><em>Bullshit.</em> He’d just allowed her to stand alone on the terrace for hours. He feared she’d <em>escape </em>from the window at night. From the thirty-second floor. Perhaps he wasn’t taking any chances, considering the bend in reality they’d just experienced.</p><p>Sansa was a bit flattered through her annoyance.   </p><p>“I’m a prisoner in here at night?”</p><p>“It’s safer this way, yes. You’re free to move as you please throughout my home during the day.”</p><p><em>When you’re awake and guards are ready,</em> Sansa thought. <em>But you’re not taking any chances at night.</em></p><p>Ignoring Petyr, Sansa crossed the room to examine the closet. She found racks of skirts, dresses, blouses and light summer knits, carefully aligned on hangers or folded on the shelves in the gleaming, custom cabinetry. Most of the chosen shades were basic or dark – olive, navy, deep orange-reds, black, white, and tan. The cuts looked sharp: clean lines, minimal embellishments. <em>Expensive.</em> She noticed a few Italian designers. Lining the shelves, he’d even provided sandals for the pool and heels suited for social gatherings, as if she’d be going out to fancy parties.</p><p>“Olyvar delivered these items today. You’ll find everything you need in here.”</p><p>Within hours? <em>Amazing what money can do. </em>Sansa wouldn’t acknowledge the feat; it would only stroke Petyr’s insufferable ego.</p><p>She eyed the glossy, top drawer. She knew without opening it what she’d find there.</p><p>
  <em>Delicates. </em>
</p><p>Did Olyvar choose… or Petyr?</p><p>Either way, she was dependent upon him for everything, <em>again, </em>right down to her knickers. She’d wager he’d at least familiarized himself with the contents of that drawer.</p><p>Knowing Petyr, he’d familiarized himself with the other Sansa’s body.</p><p>She knew <em>his</em> more than she wished. Compact, slight; but hard enough to feel masculine. Bold when he took her, relaxed under pressure. Every muscle, every sinew, every vein running hot blood under a cool exterior, she knew them all.</p><p>Gods, why did he stand so close? He always <em>hovered.</em>   </p><p>Clearing her throat, Sansa demanded, “And who am I getting dressed up for?” She lifted one smart, black shift. “You, Petyr?”</p><p>Before he could reply, she tucked her fingers around the handle and pulled back the top drawer.</p><p>Sure enough, an assortment of lingerie greeted her. Trendy and sheer - perhaps Fleur du Mal or Agent Provocateur.</p><p>
  <em>Some fucking nerve. </em>
</p><p>She guessed it was better than serviceable, cotton underwear. But then she remembered it shouldn’t be an either-or -- he shouldn’t be buying her panties at all!</p><p>Did he… think he’d <em>see</em> her in these? Because he’d seen so much already?</p><p>Fuck him.</p><p>Refusing to be bullied in this… this passive-aggressive lingerie ploy, Sansa shot a look in Petyr’s direction.</p><p>“You needed all types of garments, did you not?” he asked, entirely too evenly.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, fuck you. </em>
</p><p>Did he think she so weak as to blush and play along?</p><p>Wrong girl.</p><p>Sansa folded her arms and challenged, “Is this who you think I am? Or who you want me to be?”</p><p>It was supposed to make him stammer and protest. Backpedal. <em>Something. </em></p><p>Wrong guy.</p><p>Petyr spread arms and volleyed back, “Must they be mutually exclusive?”</p><p>It smacked far too close to intimacy.</p><p>Sansa made a sound halfway between a snort and a huff as she slammed the drawer and pushed past him on her way out of the closet.</p><p>#</p><p>She had no stomach for dinner that night, but Sansa drank plenty of water to rehydrate. Petyr seemed to think her journey through worlds akin to a marathon or a day at the spa -- rehydration was critical.</p><p>If Sansa didn’t know better, she might have mistaken his attention for genuine concern.</p><p>But she did. Know better.</p><p>Petyr did not embolden himself enough to sit on her bed, but he didn’t leave her room either. She used his hovering to ask questions and match the replies against Bran’s truth.</p><p>
  <em>“Ramsey was never legitimized in this world?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You didn’t hand the other Sansa over to the Boltons?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“She lived here with you?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Joffrey is dead and Myrcella is Queen of Westeros?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Westeros is just as secret here?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“It’s all just like my world only… it’s all different?” </em>
</p><p>By the time they finished, Sansa was exhausted, right down to her bones. But when Petyr left her room for the night – locking the door behind him - she stared up at the ceiling for a while.</p><p>Then she worked silently and steadily to remove the boards he’d placed over her window.</p><p>#</p><p>Sansa jumped at the knock on her door.</p><p><em>What time was it?</em> Late in the morning. Somehow, she knew that.</p><p>She’d fallen asleep in her clothing. <em>His </em>clothing, dammit. She still wore the white, collared shirt he’d originally given her.</p><p>An oversight.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>It wasn’t an invitation to open the door, but Petyr used it as one anyway.</p><p>Immediately, he scowled at her handiwork.  </p><p>“I won’t be caged,” Sansa replied, sitting up and squaring her shoulders.</p><p><em>But you are,</em> said a voice in her head. <em>Bars or no.</em></p><p>“As you can see, I made it through the night. I’m not a <em>suicide risk.”</em>  </p><p>For a beat, a stillness came over Petyr. Then he crossed to her bed and sat down facing her, leaning too close. Sansa thought he’d lift her chin with his fingers, as he often did, and prepared to smack his hand away. Perhaps he anticipated that outcome. For whatever reason, he <em>didn’t</em> touch her. Instead, he leaned nearer, confusing her enough that she backed away into the headboard until she had no further to go, tensing, readying for…</p><p>“Make a move like that again and I promise you <em>will </em>find yourself sleeping in the cage,” he rasped, matter-of-fact. His face was only an inch from hers. “Or we can handcuff you to the bed right here. I’m a generous man, remember. It will be your choice.”</p><p><em>He was </em>purposefully <em>ruffling her. She </em>knew <em>it. That’s what Petyr did.</em></p><p>But even as she glowered, her stupid cheeks blushed and her heart sped. She shifted her gaze, covering it up with a roll of her eyes. She refused to let that shiver race up her spine at the accompanying memory of what happened in another world…</p><p>“Acknowledge what I’ve just told you or you’ll lose the privilege of freedom during the day.”</p><p>Sansa whipped her head back.</p><p>“Are you fucking serious?”</p><p>His only reply was a slight raise in one eyebrow.</p><p>She smiled sweetly, batting her lashes. “Fine. I won’t expose your inadequate efforts to keep me locked in again. I’ll pander to your need to believe your cleverness.”</p><p>Petyr waved a hand, smiling. “In return I’ll indulge your desire to hurl petulant remarks in a need to lash out against your powerlessness.”</p><p>
  <em>You. Fucking. Ass. </em>
</p><p>Her smile faded, but Sansa would <em>not </em>give Petyr the satisfaction of any further reaction.</p><p>
  <em>That’s not what she did. It wasn’t. </em>
</p><p>They held each other’s eyes for a few moments, like a dare as to who would speak first. Sansa pointedly relaxed into the headboard, crossing her arms. She could wait him out. Petyr might have the ability to lock her in his penthouse, but he couldn’t make her talk if she didn’t want to.</p><p>He shook his head, like he could read her mind. Then his eyes drifted low, deliberately studying her shirt – <em>his shirt</em> - with interest.</p><p>Sansa squirmed, unable to decide what to do. He leered – but if she pulled the shirt tighter it would almost confirm that she wrapped herself in, or found comfort in, his attire. If she flung the off the garment to show her disdain – <em>well.</em> She’d be naked.</p><p>And if she defended its presence with an explanation <em>“I fell asleep,”</em> it would force her to talk first.</p><p>For fuck’s sake, was she imagining all this, or did she just lose a battle by Petyr only flicking his gaze downward?</p><p>He smirked like he knew her thoughts, like he’d won.  </p><p>“I don’t have any engagements for the next few days, we can discuss our plans,” Petyr said smoothly, apparently gratified enough to speak. “If you’ll get dressed and come downstairs, breakfast is served in the kitchen.”</p><p>“I’d rather stay here.”</p><p>“I’ll have a tray brought up and we can discuss matters in your room.”</p><p>“I’m not hungry.”</p><p>“Then don’t eat. I’m sure you’ll come around. You didn’t get this far without some survival skills.”</p><p>Petyr called her bluff. Sansa didn’t starve herself under Ramsey and she wasn’t going to start now that she finally had some hope. But she didn’t have to make anything easy for him. Ever.</p><p>True to his word, Petyr had Olyvar bring a simple breakfast of coffee and croissants to her room and Sansa spent the morning begrudgingly asking and answering questions as Petyr further brought her to speed on his world.</p><p>It was much like her own – Westeros, a secret society of bankers and CEOs, lobbyists and politicians – or individuals controlling those same players from behind the scenes. Many houses ran illegal empires; Petyr’s especially focused on drugs and prostitution. Even more dangerously, he shadowed himself behind the Westerosi power players, effectively pulling the strings of those pulling the strings, layers upon layers of deception.</p><p>In the afternoon, Petyr closed the door to his home office and did god-only-knows-what, while Sansa stared out her bedroom window. Petyr had brought her an array of books, and even connected the flatscreen television for her use, but he refused her access to the internet or any devices to contact her family. In the evening he returned, and they very carefully discussed the events leading to Sansa’s murder.</p><p>She noticed a tension in Petyr’s jaw that would have made another person believe he genuinely cared for the deceased Sansa. But she knew whatever long-game Petyr was playing, affection had no part.</p><p>Wisely, Petyr didn’t press her for details about what transpired between them in her world, though Sansa knew he was only biding his time.  </p><p>To her surprise, Petyr didn’t make good on his threat to install bars on her window and Sansa wondered if it was a tactic to gain her trust… or make her believe she had some control? But he did add a lock to her door that she could never hope pick. And he made sure to use it when he left for the night.</p><p>On the second day, Sansa ventured out of her bedroom, wandering aimlessly about Petyr’s condo. Whenever he entered a room she inhabited, she quickly turned and left. The first few times he let it go. But in the evening, Sansa brushed by Petyr on her way out the terrace door and he grabbed her arm, stopping her. Within a millisecond, the act sent her heart racing.</p><p>Sansa stared down at their point of connection, Petyr’s long fingers wrapped around her wrist, then flicked her gaze up to his green-gray eyes. She could smell the whisky on his breath.</p><p>To cover her racing heart, she spoke slow and steady.</p><p>“Let me go or I’ll gut you. You may have hidden the guns, but I can work a kitchen knife just fine.”</p><p>It wasn’t entirely true, but she had practiced with several in the months prior.</p><p>Petyr didn’t immediately release his grip and Sansa’s heart picked up more speed. She hated that the strength in his hands sent a thrill through her. That she could recall when they tightened around her wrists under different circumstances. That goddamn mask made it impossible to tell what he was thinking as he stared at her. He’d left her alone most of the day, why had he grabbed her <em>now?</em></p><p>She gulped… because was he imagining her body when she’d been tied up in his playroom?</p><p>Was she thinking about that?</p><p>
  <em>Obviously. </em>
</p><p>When Petyr finally loosened his fingers, Sansa walked away with intentional slowness, proving to him (to herself?) that she wasn’t affected, that her skin didn’t tingle where he’d touched it.</p><p><em>He may not be the same Petyr you vowed to kill,</em> she reminded herself. <em>But he’s capable of the same deceptions.</em></p><p>On the third morning, Petyr strode into her bedroom with purpose.</p><p>“Get dressed and meet me in the kitchen. There’s breakfast. And then I want to show you something. Two things. One is from your brother.”</p><p><em>That </em>piqued her curiosity enough to comply.</p><p>#</p><p>“What is it?” Sansa asked, frowning at the drawing.</p><p>Eyes trained on her, Petyr replied, “This is a sketch of the man who murdered you.”</p><p>Sansa dropped the paper onto the counter, instinctively wanting to distance herself.</p><p>“Bran made it,” Petyr explained. “He thought it could help us.”</p><p>“I didn’t know he was such a talented artist,” Sansa remarked, still staring at the finely rendered penciling. The man was as Bran described – ordinary, forgettable, no distinct markings. A plain face, short hair, no beard or mustache.</p><p>“How did you get this?” she asked.</p><p>“Your brother dropped it off.”</p><p>“I see.” Sansa said, softly, trying to keep her face even. “He didn’t ask to see me?”</p><p>Bran had been emotionless during their reunion, she shouldn’t be surprised. But it stung, regardless.</p><p>Petyr shook his head, quickly changing the subject. “There’s more. The man is something of a longer, he doesn’t leave his apartment much. But we’ve narrowed him down to one of the tenements in Flea Bottom, and his neighbor stopped by once. Called him “John.”’</p><p>“John? Could it be anything plainer?” Sansa scoffed. Still, it was a good amount of information for only dipping in and out of the man’s life and that irked Sansa. If Bran didn’t have to spend time on other… mind trips, or whatever… she was sure he could solve the mystery faster.</p><p>“Do you have access to the city’s cameras?” Sansa asked. “Maybe we could use this in a face recognition program?”</p><p>Petyr’s eyes twinkled. “We need someone connected throughout the city with a scurrying network of little rats.”</p><p>“Who’s that?” Sansa asked.</p><p>“Are you familiar with Lord Varys?”</p><p>Sansa made a noise of disbelief in the back of her throat. “Yes. He’s no friend of yours. Is it different here?”</p><p>Petyr shrugged. “We have a certain professional respect.”</p><p><em>Doesn’t sound like it,</em> she thought. “Will he help us?”</p><p>“If I give him something in return.”</p><p>Petyr pocketed the sketch and took a counter stool to join her in the breakfast Olyvar had prepared.</p><p>#</p><p>“Come,” Petyr said, after she’d nibbled enough toast to satisfy him.</p><p>Sansa raised her eyebrows, but allowed herself to be led – much to her surprise - out the door of his condo and down the short hall. Petyr pressed a code she couldn’t see into the elevator’s panel and unlocked it with a magnetic key.</p><p>
  <em>He trusts me with some things but not everything. </em>
</p><p>When the elevator appeared, Petyr placed his hand on the small of Sansa’s back to guide her inside. This time, she did not push him away, but she stiffened as if she’d been shocked.</p><p>
  <em>The feeling’s mutual. </em>
</p><p>They rode down, Sansa’s curiosity heightening as they descended. The elevator stopped on the fourth floor, and Petyr spread his arm out in a gesture for her to walk forward.</p><p>“Won’t someone see me?” she asked, puzzled.</p><p>“This floor, along with every unit above the twenty-ninth floor, is empty. Save for myself and Lothor. He uses the thirtieth for security and the thirty first and thirty-second I combined to make my home.”</p><p>Cautiously, half-expecting a trap, Sansa stepped into the hallway.</p><p>
  <em>Then what was the purpose of this floor? </em>
</p><p>Like he could read her mind, Petyr continued, “This floor remains unoccupied unless business requires. Staff or client needs.”</p><p>“A particular kind of male client?” Sansa asked, dryly. “Something like that?”</p><p>“Something like that," Petyr agreed, before instructing, “Unit 401."</p><p>Standing in front of the door, he produced a key and opened it, allowing Sansa to enter before him.</p><p>“This was her apartment,” he said from behind her.</p><p>Sansa gaped. Somehow, she knew, from the <em>moment </em>she crossed the threshold. An eerie sensation ran up her spine, like déjà vu.</p><p>Yet Petyr-in-her-world never gave her an independent apartment, however modest. The unit contained a tiny living room, an adjacent bedroom, and one bathroom. Curiously smaller than what Sansa would have expected in the building.</p><p>Out of the corner of her eye, she spied a bureau in the bedroom and ran, seizing the photograph on top.</p><p>“It’s them,” she whispered, fingers caressing the glass, as if she could touch her brothers and her sister. Just the Stark siblings. Like reality, her parents were absent from the picture.</p><p>“Why are you showing me this?” she asked, biting the inside of her mouth to keep herself from getting childishly weepy.</p><p>“Call it fostering trust.”</p><p><em>I will never trust you,</em> Sansa thought. <em>Just because you didn’t betray Sansa in this world doesn’t mean you won’t. In fact, it means your betrayal is yet to come.</em></p><p>Sansa strode away from Petyr, who’d once again violated her personal space. It was unnerving, standing in the Other Sansa’s apartment. She felt as if she were violating her privacy, but that couldn’t be…  </p><p>“Can I… look around?”</p><p>She asked it of Petyr, but it was almost as if she asked it of herself, or of the ghost of Other Sansa.</p><p>Petyr nodded.</p><p>She approached a door in the bedroom she assumed to be a closet and blinked when it revealed a walk-in, larger than she’d expect.</p><p>“She liked clothes,” Petyr offered, coming up behind her again. Sansa nodded, although that explanation didn’t entirely sit right. Only one side of racks hung with dresses and shirts.</p><p>Had half her clothing been brought up to Petyr’s condo? How much time had she spent there, over here? What did Petyr plan on doing with her remaining items, now that she was gone?</p><p>In a trance-like state, Sansa wandered to the bed and sat down.</p><p>“Could I have some time alone in here?” she asked. She couldn’t think clearly with Petyr hovering and being in her own apartment felt too private a moment to share.</p><p>Petyr paused, licking his lips. After a few long seconds, he said, “I’ll be just outside the door.”</p><p>Alone, Sansa laid on the bed for a few minutes. Her head ached, confronted again with the mind-boggling reality. She tried to catch any lingering scent of her other self and it made her even sadder when she imagined she could. Not only was it all too weird to handle, it was heart-wrenching.</p><p>Just when Sansa thought she knew anguish, when she’d experienced all the horrors a person could face, she found more than anyone knew existed. Endless despair happening to endless other versions of herself. Was it like that for everyone? It was an <em>unbearable</em> thought.</p><p>And why? For what purpose?</p><p>Everything felt so hopeless at that moment, Sansa didn’t know why she did it, but on a whim, she felt compelled to try.</p><p>She thrust her hand under the mattress. Where she used to hide books from Ramsey, in a different bed, in a different world. It wasn’t at all a clever hiding place, but it was all she had.</p><p>
  <em>Her hand hit something.</em>
</p><p>Clasping her fingers around the hard object, Sansa withdrew a book.</p><p>No, <em>a journal.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Another chapter will be posted in a few days! But the overall pace will still be slow for updates to this story. It's a challenge to begin with, and I am simultaneously writing my first full-length novel for Kindle. (I've posted some shorts, but, to be honest, they're pretty mediocre as they were only to learn the process. Although I had fun doing it anyway... learning is always fun.)  </p><p>In case anyone wants more PxS, my tumblr is pretty dedicated to squeeing over Bae and other similar characters. https://www.tumblr.com/blog/lionessfics47.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Perspectives change back-and-forth in this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Petyr paced outside the door to Sansa’s old condo.</p><p>He wasn’t used to, and didn’t enjoy, feeling conflicted. But bends in reality didn’t happen every day; he supposed allowances must be made.</p><p>Sansa dropping, like a red-ribboned present out of the sky, should have made for an effortless approach.</p><p>But the temptress on the other side of the door was just as much a gift from the devil as the heaven’s above. Like the Monkey’s Paw; wish-fulfillment with a dark twist. Soft skin and supple limbs belying sharp edges and a venomous tongue.</p><p>Petyr ran his hand over his beard. It sounded in some ways like he described himself.</p><p>That he craved this Sansa more than the Sansa he knew before floated that pesky guilt to the surface.</p><p>He told the guilt this was his chance to avenge the other Sansa.</p><p>His cock said otherwise.</p><p>When she flitted about his condo the day before, Petyr at first had the eerie feeling of watching a ghost haunt his penthouse.</p><p>But she didn’t move like the other Sansa. Didn’t breathe like her. Didn’t even hold herself in stillness the same way. Grief had deepened her beauty. Fear put her on guard – he could tell by the way she cocked her head, always listening, always aware, on the lookout for threats.</p><p>Like him.</p><p>It moved in Petyr an ache to protect her more fiercely than he’d felt before.</p><p>And the kiss, <em>that kiss.</em></p><p>There was the crux of the matter.</p><p>He couldn’t seduce her with his usual tricks.</p><p>The prize he desired had been, paradoxically, molded through detesting him.</p><p>He felt like a bloody schoolboy, but he needed to get the moment right… to relax her as she’d been when, well. Drugged. Only this time, fully in capacity of her senses <em>and </em>willing. At the very least, so that when he explored her mouth with his tongue, she didn’t bite it off.  </p><p>He ran his hand over his beard, listening at the condo door. If she didn’t come out soon, he would go in and get her. The hidden stairwell connecting his floor to the fourth floor -- and then leading out the building -- lay just behind the closet’s rack of clothes. Sansa wouldn’t get far with his men on the street, but he’d rather she not discover it.</p><p>The more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to confine her, to keep her in his line of vision. </p><p>The day before, after she haunted his penthouse for several hours, he poured himself a whisky on the terrace. She wandered out, perhaps to watch the sunset. The last of the rays hit her eyes, shining light on their impossible blueness and the wind picked up her hair, tossing it about like flames and he just. Fucking. Couldn’t.</p><p>Couldn’t stop himself from grabbing her arm.</p><p>For a brief moment, he swore she titled her head back and her lips parted. Or maybe he truly was a fucking schoolboy who just imagined it.</p><p>The very next second, she was threatening him with knives. Petyr didn’t think she could back it up, but that wasn’t the point. She hated him enough to try.</p><p>As if she’d been designed to despise him. If he believed in the old gods the way some Westerosi houses worshipped, he’d have mused on the irony as some delicious punishment thought up by one of The Seven.  </p><p>Suddenly, he heard a noise from inside the apartment and he threw open the door.</p><p>“I’m ready,” Sansa said, voice small. She walked past him, leaving the unit without waiting for him to escort her, making him follow at her heels.</p><p>Once they’d returned to his condo, she said, “I’d like to be left alone this afternoon. I’m going to my room.”</p><p>Again, Petyr was forced to follow or allow her to go freely and… something about her seemed off. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he didn’t want her out of his sight.</p><p>Sansa turned and blinked her wide blue eyes at him, standing in the center of her bedroom.</p><p>Should he lock her in?</p><p>Dammit, he’d <em>just </em>built some trust and he was about to destroy it.</p><p>Tapping his tongue to his lips, he decided, “I’ll come check on you at lunch.”</p><p>He closed the door behind him but did not lock it.</p><p> </p><p>Petyr pulled out his cell and sent Lothor a message.</p><p>
  <em>Keep a close watch for the next few hours. Let the others know. Add two more men if you suspect they’re not paying attention. </em>
</p><p>#</p><p>As soon as the door closed, Sansa shimmied the journal from where she’d stuffed it into the waistband of her pants.</p><p>She opened the cover and immediately cringed.</p><p><em>“Dear Diary,” </em>it began, in her own handwriting -- though the letters swirled and flourished more than usual.</p><p>That wasn’t the worst part.</p><p>The part that had her actually slam the book shut and cover her face, were the little heart doodles on the back of the cover, complete with iterations of <em>“Sansa Baelish”</em> or <em>“Sansa Stark-Baelish.” </em></p><p><em>For fuck’s sake, Sansa!</em> She mentally chided her other self.</p><p>And then, she read.</p><p>It was like reading the most embarrassing parts of herself. Her naïve, sugary nature distilled and dripped onto the page like a thick syrup, sticky-sweet and entirely off-putting to the tastes and sensibilities she’d acquired as a woman grown.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Dear Diary, </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Petyr brought me lemon cakes today with pink fondant flowers on top. But then he left for a late meeting and I didn’t see him all night and… I suspect he might have been with a woman. He’s so hard to read, I feel as if we’re meant to be and yet… it’s as if… as if he’s my horizon. Something I chase but can never capture.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>Oh god,</em> Sansa thought, rolling her eyes. She flipped through more of the same, until she came to an interesting entry.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Dear Diary, </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Petyr would be so angry to know who I saw today. It happened right downstairs, in the coffee shop. The barista spilled coffee on me and I was on my way to the bathroom to clean up. He didn’t recognize me in my wig, but I saw him and I wanted to let him know I’m safe. I told him to stay hidden until we left. I’m so conflicted, diary! I love Petyr, but he doesn’t always understand. He thinks with his head too much and doesn’t let his heart guide him. So I am going to keep this a secret until it all works out – which I know it will. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>You. Idiot.</p><p>Sansa wanted to throttle her other self. She didn’t know who she referred to or what happened, but Sansa was sure it was a mistake. <em>Trusting.</em> It was the mistake she always made in her youth, and <em>fuck</em> if this didn’t sound like a more youthful version of herself.</p><p>Although… she had to admit feeling a little impressed that the other Sansa kept a secret from Petyr because it was more than she’d ever done.</p><p>Quickly, Sansa flipped through the rest of the diary, but only two entries remained in the short journal. One went on about a new dress and the other talked about Petyr’s “cute butt.”</p><p>Sansa slammed the book shut, cheeks flaming.</p><p>In another world, she may have thought something similar. Quietly. Certainly not in writing.  </p><p>Sansa could tell her other self was falling in love with this Petyr, but she couldn’t glean from the diary entries if Petyr used that affection against her; how much of it he returned, to his advantage.        </p><p>
  <em>Like my world. As I loved Petyr. Or thought I did. </em>
</p><p>She also couldn’t tell if the coffee shop man led to Sansa’s demise, but she suspected his involvement somehow.</p><p>One thing was sure – all of this was between her and her other self. In the past, she’d trusted Petyr with her life and it brought her a fate worse than death. This time, she wouldn’t let him close enough to manipulate her.</p><p>#</p><p>Sansa <em>didn’t</em> trust him.</p><p>But she couldn’t help but relax her guard <em>a little</em> as the days passed. Sometimes, Petyr had business elsewhere and left her alone, with Lothor on guard outside the door (and whatever guards he’d hidden on the streets.) On those days, she wandered the condo by herself, almost as if it were her own.</p><p>More often, he stayed with her, and Sansa wasn’t so blind as to not see how he ingrained himself into her routine more and more each day. At first, it fell under the guise of “detective work.” As in, “I’ve ordered some take-out for dinner tonight, while we review a new report I’ve obtained from the local police.” But when she sat down, it was clear Petyr already knew the information forwards and backwards. He’s sip wine or even smoke a cigarette, watching her while she read. Unnerving her.</p><p>“Who had motive?” he asked, and it felt like he was testing Sansa, at times. Applying the Socratic method to stimulate her critical thinking. Other times, it felt rhetorical, like he used her as a sounding board.</p><p>“The Lannisters,” she said. “If Cersei found out I was involved in Joffrey’s death or… maybe Tywin? He never had much love for the boy, but he wouldn’t stand for an attack on his family. And the Lannisters would want to make themselves known… Bran said the man tried to kidnap me, that the murder looked like a mistake? Perhaps Cersei ordered him to bring me to her, so that she could torture me personally.”</p><p>Petyr nodded, spinning his ring. “She isn’t an intelligent woman, but even Cersei might have guessed you had help. It could be that she wanted to torture you to find out. But she sent her children to your funeral… and the attack feels too sloppy, even for her.”</p><p>The one thing Sansa had to admit was gratitude for having a mind like Petyr’s on her side.</p><p><em>For now,</em> she reminded herself. <em>Betrayal was always just around the corner.</em></p><p>By the end of the week, he’d dropped the pretense and Sansa actually watched a movie with him one night – some Mission Impossible or other – from a safe distance on a chair across the room.</p><p>Through the flickering light of the screen, Sansa could just make out the gray at Petyr’s temple, in profile. She used to start there, whenever she ran her fingers through his hair. Her eyes alternated between that point and his lap, and she remembered when, in another world, she straddled that same lap and clutched his hair and they never made it to the end of the movie.</p><p>When the memory began to command more of her attention than whatever was happening on the screen, she claimed fatigue and jumped off the chair. Sansa scurried to bed, Petyr at her heels, bemused.</p><p>Thankfully, he didn’t ask questions as he locked her in for the night.</p><p>Sansa changed into her pajamas, meeting with a groan the sight in her underwear.</p><p>
  <em>Wet. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Godsdammit.</em>
</p><p>Like her nether region didn’t get the message that this man decimated her heart – or was capable of decimating it -- without so much as batting an eye.</p><p>#</p><p>“A drink to celebrate?” Petyr asked.</p><p>Varys had called with good news. He had a man in the police department who would run the sketch through a database of known criminals <em>and </em>he was working with a hacker to tap the city’s surveillance cameras -- or possibly even the DMV database. He’d also shared copies of the drawing with his network of little rats, promising riches to anyone who could find the man matching the image.</p><p>“One drink,” Sansa agreed. She sat on a stool by his outdoor kitchen. It was the first day she’d been bold enough to use his pool, swimming until the moon rose, only coming out to eat a light dinner.</p><p>She watched as Petyr lined up glasses, mixers, and lemons onto the counter.</p><p>“What’s that?” she asked, brows knit.  </p><p>Petyr paused. “A Lemon Drop. Don’t you like them?”</p><p>“Sure, if you’re on the beach in Positano or by the pool during the day. I’d much rather a whisky right now.”</p><p>Petyr almost smirked. “You. Want a whisky?”</p><p>“Well… maybe that’s more a fireside drink. In winter.”</p><p>“I didn’t know you were so particular.” He tapped his tongue to his lips, studying her. “Let me make you a summer cocktail, for the evenings.”</p><p>Sansa shrugged.</p><p>Petyr worked, pulling ingredients from the refrigerator below and pouring various bottles of alcohol and lime juice into a cocktail shaker. With a flourish, he flipped a martini glass onto the counter and placed a pomegranate next to it. Scooping out a few seeds, he dropped them – one, two, three – into the bottom of the martini glass.</p><p>He gave the mix a few more shakes, then turned the shaker upside down, straining the cocktail into the glass. A deep red poured, perfectly reaching the brim. As a final touch, Petyr rimmed the glass with the twist of a lemon peel and let it hang off the side as an accent.</p><p>Sure he was showing off, Sansa drawled, “I didn’t know you were such a skilled bartender.”</p><p>“You’d be surprised how hard it is to find good staff. I had to learn to handle many tasks on my own.”</p><p>“You mean you couldn’t risk the extra help up here just to make a drink when Olyvar is otherwise engaged.”</p><p>Petyr scrunched his lips. “House specialty,” he said.</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“A concoction of my own, similar to a Pomegranate martini.”</p><p>Carefully, Sansa brought the glass to her lips and sipped.</p><p>It was bloody delicious. Maybe the best thing she ever drank.</p><p>“It’s alright,” she shrugged. “Is this what you give all the ladies you bring up here?”</p><p>“Actually, no. You’re the first I’ve tested it on. Besides myself.”</p><p>“I never pictured you for a fruity cocktail.”</p><p>“Oh, I can be versatile. In Positano or poolside, by day,” he mocked.</p><p>Sansa frowned.</p><p>
  <em>Don’t get flirty. Or comfortable. Or whatever that was.  </em>
</p><p>#</p><p>“I think you’ve had enough,” Petyr, said, eyeing her warily.</p><p>Sansa blinked. “Are you serious?”</p><p>She’d asked for a third cocktail. Maybe she’d slurred a bit in the request. But the first was amazing and the second, even better.</p><p>What did it matter? She had nowhere to be.</p><p>And she absolutely wasn’t enjoying her conversation with Petyr, but the night was so beautiful and maybe she wasn’t exactly <em>hating</em> it.</p><p>The sound system wired throughout the deck played upbeat music -- she’d heard some of the songs before, but never fully listened to what she teased Petyr to be “old-man alternative.” The Violent Femmes and now, “Here Comes Your Man,” by the Pixies. Sansa found herself tapping her foot and resisting the urge to dance.</p><p>Instead, maybe she let her cover-up slide further up her thighs each time she crossed her long legs and rocked on her stool. Maybe she noticed Petyr noticing.</p><p>She wasn’t baiting him purposefully because she knew he desired her and knew he’d restrain from touching her. Or punishing him because she wanted some sort of revenge. Whatever she was doing… it wasn’t any of that.</p><p>And so what if it was? <em>He’d had his fingers inside her while she slept -- </em>he deserved it.</p><p><em>If </em>that’s what she was doing. Which she wasn’t.</p><p>“It’s a strong drink and you’ve had two in a row. You’ve been through a multi-dimensional wormhole and I can’t begin to fathom what that does on the body. It’s late, and I think you need to go to bed.”</p><p><em>“You </em>think?” Sansa lifted her chin. “Remember what I told you, Petyr – I don’t do what people tell me to do anymore. Who do you think you are, my father?”</p><p>
  <em>Very bad choice of words. </em>
</p><p>Because, fuck. Petyr’s eyes darkened and that made her blush and she hoped he didn’t notice because dammit the air felt heavy and she was suddenly clammy and oh fuck the alcohol made her too loose.</p><p>Gods. She <em>was </em>drunk. That cocktail snuck up on her when she wasn’t expecting it.  </p><p>And did Petyr have a bit too much as well?</p><p>Good music and strong liquor were a bad combination.</p><p>“Sansa.”</p><p>“I’m not going to bed just because you tell me to, Petyr.”</p><p>It wasn’t a challenge. She’d said it with conviction, firmly. So why did it sound like a challenge anyway?</p><p>Fucking alcohol, that’s why. She’d never had a tolerance like Robb or Jon or even Arya.</p><p>“Go to your room, Sansa.”</p><p>Sansa barked a laugh, but it came out too nervous. She stood, took a step back. The sound system taunted the inappropriately upbeat – and very mistimed - lyrics, <em>“here comes your man… here comes your man…”</em></p><p>“Go to hell, Petyr.”</p><p>Was something happening here? Or was she just imagining things because maybe she was a little drunk?</p><p>“Shall I call Lothor to carry you or will you walk there yourself, like a big girl?”</p><p>Sansa blinked.  </p><p>That was definitely out of line. Wasn’t it? An innuendo, a flirtation. Right? Normal people didn’t talk like that. Sansa’s cheeks flushed again.</p><p>Well if Petyr thought he could order her around <em>and </em>flirt with her on top of it, he was sorely mistaken.</p><p>Sansa pointed her finger at him. “Don’t you tell me what to do, Petyr. You are<em> not</em> my father and you’re <em>not </em>the boss of me.”</p><p><em>Godsdammit.</em> In her head it sounded strong. She even tried to channel some of her mother’s righteous anger – Cat was a pro, after all. But it came out childish.</p><p>Whatever. She wasn’t going to bed just because he told her to. He could lock her up in his tower, but he couldn’t dictate her sleep schedule.</p><p>“This is your last warning. If I call Lothor up here to drag you into your bedroom, I guarantee it will strip away the last vestige of pride you’re trying so hard to hold onto right now.”</p><p>
  <em>Who the fuck did he think he was?</em>
</p><p>Sansa scoffed again, doing her best to ignore that the threat was heating something low in her belly.</p><p>Petyr moved to call Lothor and Sansa grabbed his arm. She was too drunk to realize it was the first time <em>she</em> touched <em>him. </em>Without trying to kill him.</p><p>“Wait, stop! I’ll go.”</p><p>Why did this feel like a game? Or was it just in her head?</p><p>“Too late, sweetling.” Petyr was so close to her, Sansa could feel his breath on her cheek, see the fine lines around his eyes. “Listen better next time.”  </p><p>He reached under the counter and pressed a button.</p><p>The smart thing to do would have been for Sansa to run <em>toward </em>her bedroom, to beat Lothor to it. But the alcohol muddled her brain and she backed away instead, toward the park-like garden on Petyr’s roof.</p><p>“You’re such an ass, Petyr, you’re such a fucking ass.”</p><p>It took three seconds for Lothor to burst onto the terrace, or at least that’s how it seemed to Sansa.</p><p>“Bring Lady Sansa to her bedroom,” Petyr instructed, calm enough to both show Lothor there was no real problem and to really piss Sansa off.</p><p>The burly man approached and, to her credit Sansa didn’t try to run further. She straightened her spine and didn’t struggle when Lothor grabbed and hoisted her over his shoulder – a move entirely unnecessary.</p><p>“You’re such an ass, Petyr!” she spat, but Sansa couldn’t see his face from her upside-down position. Mocking her, David Bowie’s “Modern Love” played through the speakers, as if a happy party were still underway on the deck.</p><p>With ease, Lothor carried her through the bedroom and down the hall. He dumped her unceremoniously onto her bed and Sansa quickly scrambled into a sitting position.</p><p>When Petyr came in behind Lothor, she refused to meet his gaze. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him place a glass of water on the table. As his footsteps receded, she focused her energy into speaking slowly, soberly, and it was more difficult than she thought.  </p><p>“That was just to prove that you can. But you can’t. Treat me like a child.”</p><p>
  <em>Not in this world.</em>
</p><p>“The first time I saw you, you were just a child. In some ways, the last time I saw you, you were still… maturing,” Petyr mused, more thoughtful than usual. “And then, you suddenly re-appeared. Changed. You’re not a child any longer. Tell me. What is it you think you were doing up there, on the stool?”</p><p>“No, I’m not a child. You made sure of that in my world.”</p><p>“That’s not an answer.”</p><p>“I know what <em>you’re</em> doing. Stop it.”</p><p>Sansa let her eyes bore into Petyr’s, refusing to back down.    </p><p>“You think you know me?” Petyr asked, face, a mask.</p><p>Sansa spoke slowly. “I know what you want.”</p><p>He paused. “Do you?”</p><p>Sansa didn’t say anything. After a pause of her own, she turned her head back toward the opposite wall.</p><p>She heard the door close and lock, click.</p><p>“I know you, Petyr,” she whispered again, under her breath.</p><p>She was angry because he wasn’t wrong – she did have too much to drink. More alarming, it infuriated Sansa that he’d intentionally handled it that way…</p><p>…it was frighteningly close to looking like their foreplay used to look.</p><p>#</p><p>It wasn’t REM sleep, but it wasn’t quite a lucid dream either. It was somewhere in between. On some level, Petyr knew he was dreaming, though he couldn’t control it. </p><p>Which was fine. Dream Petyr had everything under control. </p><p>Including Sansa.</p><p>Entirely wet, in his shower. Pleading with wide, blue eyes. Her hands, cuffed behind her back, made her breasts stick out prominently, as if she presented them to him. Drops of water pooled at the tips of her nipples, dripping down to the tile below. </p><p>Petyr grabbed her chin in his hand, just because he wanted to, just because she couldn’t stop him. She gasped, blinking back the rivulets of water as she stared, waiting to see what he’d do next. With his thumb Petyr traced her lips slowly and Sansa flinched like it might be a threat. Maybe it was. </p><p>He slid his hands down to her breasts, cupping both greedily, kneading them. Sansa’s head fell back, eyelids fluttering, then closing against the shower stream.</p><p>Petyr skimmed his hands down her sides until he reached her narrow waist, then grabbed it, firmly.</p><p>“Spread your legs,” he said. When she didn’t, he pressed his fingers just a little harder into her sides. “I don’t like repeating myself.”</p><p>Sansa licked her lips and complied. Her body trembled, something between erratic breathing and a shiver. The water was much too warm to be the cause. Petyr stared for a moment, wanting to remember her like this. Wet, vulnerable, spread for him.  </p><p>“Don’t...” she begged, as his finger trailed low, and he <em>loved </em>the challenge. Knowing that only he could touch her just right, so that the plea soon became <em>“don’t stop.”</em> </p><p>Dream Petyr’s fingers never made it to her cunt.</p><p>But no matter.</p><p>The scene cut to his bedroom, like dreams often do. Though he was dry, Sansa glistened, wet in the dim light, bent over his bed. Hands, cuffed. Legs, spread.</p><p>Petyr drove his cock into her and <em>fuck,</em> she felt like heaven, and <em>fuck,</em> when she cried his name it was the most perfect sound Petyr had ever heard.</p><p>Somewhere in the real world, the cold world, the world where Sansa wasn’t in his bed - a noise sounded loud enough to rip Petyr out of his magnificent dream.</p><p>A crash. Somewhere in the house.  </p><p>He woke with a throbbing erection, pre-cum already seeping from the tip.</p><p>There wasn’t time to tame it before he sprang out of bed.</p><p>Petyr’s logical mind registered that the noise wasn’t even close to Sansa’s room.</p><p>But some other part of his brain told him to check on her before anything or anyone else, and he walked quickly down the hall to her bedroom.</p><p>#</p><p>Oh no.</p><p>
  <em>No, no, no.</em>
</p><p>Sansa awoke, covered in a sheen of sweat.</p><p>Damp between her legs.</p><p>
  <em>Oh gods, no, please. </em>
</p><p>She’d been dreaming of Petyr.</p><p>Of when he tied her up in his playroom. The moment he lifted back and peaked beneath her panties.</p><p>Oh gods. She dreamed he didn’t stop there.</p><p>She dreamed he slid his fingers down to her slit. That his eyes darkened and danced when he found the evidence.</p><p>And she begged, oh she begged him to stop, but he thrust two fingers inside her. He teased her clit with his thumb. The ropes held tight, she had no choice but to give herself to him. She moaned when he kissed her neck, nibbling.</p><p>But Petyr leaned back when the first shudder ran up her legs.</p><p>To watch her face.</p><p>There was nowhere to go to escape his fingers, nowhere to hide from his gaze. Her climax came over her, as he broke her – not with pain, but with pleasure.</p><p><em>Fuck, </em>Sansa thought, shaking away the memory. She couldn’t trust her traitorous subconscious. <em>Why did she have to dream of him? </em></p><p>Out of nowhere, a knock sounded on her door.</p><p>“Sansa, are you alright?”</p><p>The controlled rasp of Petyr’s voice had an edge of concern.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck!</em>
</p><p>“Don’t come in!” she shouted. Fast, too fast.</p><p>“Sansa. What’s wrong?”</p><p>More alarm now in his tone.</p><p>“I – I – don’t come in!”</p><p>Petyr didn’t fucking listen, as usual.</p><p>He pushed the door wide, making Sansa jump.  </p><p>“Sansa. Didn’t you hear that noise? And what’s wrong?” he crossed toward her bed.</p><p>“Don’t come any closer!”</p><p>Her face was flushed, she knew it. She couldn’t stop panting. She’d soaked the sheets between her legs. Gods, did the room smell like sex or was that her imagination?</p><p>
  <em>Oh, fucking fuck, fuck, fuck. </em>
</p><p>Sansa pulled the sheet up to her neck like a frightened child. Averting her gaze, she glanced downward. That’s when she saw Petyr’s…</p><p>
  <em>Oh god. </em>
</p><p>Tenting his black sleep pants, Petyr had a huge erection.</p><p>Any other time, if she’d just seen it <em>any </em>other time, she would have reacted with a proper response. A snarky comment, mockery, <em>anything!</em></p><p>Anything would have been better than what she did.</p><p>Which was gape, open-mouthed.</p><p>Did the dream-lust color her face?</p><p>And that should have been the worst of it, but she unconsciously <em>licked her lips.</em></p><p>Idiot!</p><p>Finding her voice, Sansa hurled her words with more cruelty than she’d intended. Perhaps to cover for what she feared he might see on her face.</p><p>“Get out of my room, right now.”</p><p>Her voice was cold, laced with apparent repulsion. She was the Ice Queen, after all. She could freeze anyone out.</p><p>For a moment, Petyr didn’t move. He only did what he usually did, which could mean so many things.</p><p>He blinked, slowly.</p><p>Then he turned and left. Taking his glorious erection with him. Leaving her alone with her soaked cunt.</p><p>Which was exactly what she wanted.</p><p>It was.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Aren’t we touchy today, boss?” Olyvar asked, without bothering to stop his cooking or turn to look at Petyr. “Shall I make you a double shot?”</p><p>“No. I’ll have coffee at the office.” Petyr grabbed his cell from the counter and pocketed it.</p><p>At those words Olyvar finally did turn and Petyr didn’t like the smile playing upon the boy’s lips. As if he read something in Petyr’s curt reply.</p><p>Then again, Olyvar generally smiled like the world was his secret little playhouse.</p><p>They had that in common. Perhaps that was why they got along so well.</p><p>“You haven’t frequented the office much and never this early,” Olyvar drawled. “Not since she arrived.”</p><p>Petyr glared. “I won’t be back until late. Call someone to repair the dent.”</p><p>When Olvyar dropped the heavy copper pot that morning, it not only dinged Petyr’s floor, it took out his Vitamix on the way. The bloody cookware set Petyr neither liked nor desired had yet to be re-homed elsewhere and overloaded his cabinet. A gift from the Tyrells, the fancy pots clashed with Petyr’s modern aesthetic and he found little use for them anyway. He’d been meaning to give the damn set to Olyvar when his servant inadvertently reminded him by dropping the pot and waking the entire house.</p><p>“Shall I keep Lady Sansa entertained while you’re gone?” Olvyar asked, as Petyr headed for the door. “Although I don’t think I can provide the kind of company she desires.”</p><p>Petyr paused, hand on the doorknob. Olyvar was observant. That’s why he hired him in the first place.</p><p>But what <em>had </em>the boy witnessed over the course of the last week, as he and Sansa steadfastly danced at arm’s length from one another?</p><p>Olyvar hadn’t seen what Petyr had seen that morning… Sansa’s flushed face, her eyes wide, trained below his waist.</p><p>Then again, Petyr wasn’t sure what he saw either and Olvyar read sexual tension beneath everyone, everywhere. His blond servant was bound to be right occasionally, the odds commanded it. But it didn’t mean that Sansa was anything less than repulsed by seeing Petyr… at attention. When she told him to leave, she nearly looked like she’d vomit, like he’d violated her with the vulgarity.</p><p>Not to mention, he wasn’t certain she wasn’t playing a long game. Biding her time to try to kill him at the best possible moment.</p><p>“Lady Sansa knows how to entertain herself. I’ve left her alone before,” Petyr replied. “Just make sure Lothor knows when you leave and locks the door behind you.”</p><p>“Sure thing, boss.”</p><p>#</p><p>His hands were a problem, Sansa mused, not for the first time. <em>What was it about them?</em> The long fingernail beds. The slightly tapered fingertips. Even the veins and the shine. Everything combined to make his hands so elegant.</p><p><em>Fuck.</em> He knew well how to use them.</p><p>Absent-mindedly, her own hand stroked her décolletage.</p><p>
  <em>Gods, it must be the hottest summer ever in King’s Landing. </em>
</p><p>Or maybe the alcohol made her warm. Olyvar prepared the most delicious treat late that morning, a spiked affogato. Then he suggested the two of them move on to afternoon cocktails because why the fuck not?</p><p>Petyr’s servant was easy to talk to. Sansa hadn’t gotten the chance to know him in her world, Littlefinger always kept her isolated.</p><p>Although, perhaps because he hadn’t <em>actually </em>caged her, the other Petyr sought to control her interactions; whereas here, what worry had this Petyr for her conversing with staff, when he kept her under lock and key?</p><p>Gods, she’d been drunk the night before and now she felt tipsy again. What was becoming of her?</p><p>
  <em>Well, what else can I do cooped up in this condo? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And it’s not like I haven’t been through enough to warrant a drink or even a godsdamn drinking problem. It’s a miracle I’m standing at all.</em>
</p><p>Olyvar had left an hour ago and Sansa grew restless without his distracting chatter.</p><p>She didn’t like it when Petyr was home. Of course not. But she couldn’t be expected to find endless amusement in endless hours of isolation either. No internet, no cell, no contact with the outside world.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck, it was hot. </em>
</p><p>With a glance over her shoulder, Sansa untied her bikini top.</p><p>Petyr didn’t keep cameras on the deck. Or anywhere, except the foyer. Less evidence, he’d claimed, less of a trail.</p><p>Sansa removed the top and reclined back on the lounge chair, turning her fair face to the sun.</p><p><em>I’m going to burn,</em> she thought, but the alcohol relaxed her enough not to care. Like Petyr, Olyvar made a strong drink.</p><p>Wearing only her bikini bottoms, Sansa suddenly became hyper-focused on their presence.</p><p><em>Petyr must have chosen the swimsuits as well, </em>she thought. The very material that now touched her intimately had passed his inspection.</p><p>It cradled her pussy, almost as if his own hands cradled it, laid claim.</p><p>
  <em>No. Fuck it. </em>
</p><p>Sansa shimmied out of her bikini bottoms too, giggling a little at her brazenness.</p><p>But Petyr wasn’t returning until later and alone, she could make herself as comfortable as she damn well pleased. If she didn’t want Petyr’s clothing touching her, Petyr’s money covering her, Petyr’s decisions all over her body, well, that was good. No one told her what to do anymore.</p><p>Briskly, naked as her name day, Sansa crossed to the pool and dove in, relishing the feel of the water on her bare skin.</p><p>#</p><p>Petyr flicked the ashes of his cigarette.</p><p>He’d broken another rule, smoking inside his office. He preferred a clean, leathery smell indoors and here he was lighting up in his home <em>and </em>his downtown office. Of course he’d send the suit to the cleaners but the smell of smoke was harder to remove from the furnishings.</p><p><em>Fuck it, </em>he thought, snatching his cell from the desk. <em>Might as well leave.</em></p><p>He wasn’t getting any work done anyway.</p><p>With the Lannisters transitioning to Myrcella’s reign, Westeros was quiet for the first time in a long time -- and for the first time in an equally long time, the calm benefitted Petyr.</p><p>Quickly walking to the building’s underground garage, Petyr slid into his Porsche and drove back to his condo in record time. Not because he was driving fast, but the late afternoon hour meant little traffic on the roads of King’s Landing.</p><p>“Any trouble?” he asked Lothor, standing guard outside his condo door.</p><p>Stiffly, his man shook his head and stepped aside.</p><p>Petyr entered his marble foyer, feet immediately taking him up to Sansa’s room. When she wasn’t on her bed, he wandered into his home office, thinking he might find her poking around as she often did, studying his books like she’d discover clues to unlock some mystery. But when he found that room empty as well, he knew she’d be on the terrace.</p><p>He was reasonably sure, anyway.</p><p>Sansa’s slippery nature always left a grain of doubt in his mind. Maybe she’d find a hole in the precautions he’d taken to keep her safe. Perhaps through the hidden door that led to Sansa’s old unit on the fourth floor and down to the street below. Though Petyr had long since sealed it with extra locks and daily verified the alarm was in working order.</p><p>Just in case, he walked briskly to his bedroom, peering out at the floor-to-ceiling glass leading to his deck.</p><p>He stopped in his tracks.</p><p>If he were a man who didn’t conceal his emotions, his jaw would have dropped to the floor. He couldn’t help but blink, hard.</p><p>Sansa was sprawled out on his terrace without a stitch of clothing.</p><p>Reclining on the lounge chair, eyes closed, face up to the sun.</p><p>Her entire body glistened, wet, like his dream. Long legs, flat stomach, hair slick, running down to pert breasts.</p><p>
  <em>God, she was beautiful. </em>
</p><p>Petyr didn’t know when, didn’t know how fast his hand found his cock -- he only became conscious of the fact because he needed to remove his trousers <em>now </em>for better access.</p><p>Fumbling with his belt, he couldn’t unlatch the buckle quickly enough and at the same time shadow himself halfway behind the curtain.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck, he was hard. </em>
</p><p>With the glare, Sansa couldn’t see into the windows, but he wasn’t taking any chances.</p><p>Petyr’s pants and briefs fell to his ankles and with his left arm bent over his head, he braced himself against the window. He wrapped the fingers of his right hand around his erection and pumped, watching the water drip from Sansa’s naked body. It didn’t occur to him to respect her solitary nudity, but if the thought had crossed his mind, he would have dismissed it. It was his terrace, after all. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen her nearly naked before, after all.</p><p>It wasn’t like he wouldn’t pleasure himself to this vision later, after all.</p><p>Not to mention… he found her obliviousness erotic. Petyr only needed Sansa to stay like that for a few seconds.</p><p>He made damn sure to sear the image onto his brain for future use. It was like his birthday, like Christmas. Better, because what the fuck did he want with material goods when he bought anything as it pleased him?</p><p>He couldn’t ask for a better gift than this, yet some god somewhere smiled on him and it got better anyway.</p><p>Sansa <em>wiggled.</em> Or… squirmed? Her legs pressed tightly together and she moved them side-to-side.  </p><p>
  <em>Holy fuck and then she spread them.</em>
</p><p>Torturously, Petyr was only afforded a side-angle, but he could see Sansa parted her legs and pushed her arm between them, momentarily grinding her wrist against her cunt. Then she quickly snapped it back.</p><p>It was as if… she wanted to touch herself but didn’t dare? As if she tried to subdue the ache between her legs?</p><p>Petyr wasn’t sure if it was wishful thinking but it was enough – more than enough.</p><p>He lost control, clenching his teeth and nearly growling as he pumped furiously to this fantasy. The world went white around the edges as he reached a mind-blowing orgasm he knew he’d try to recapture later that night. Ribbons of come shot out onto his curtains, the floor; he didn’t care.</p><p><em>Fuck </em>she was sexy and <em>fuck</em> he imagined his cock pushing into her sweet cunt with every trust of his hips.</p><p>So fucking magnificent was his pleasure that Petyr didn’t realize he collapsed his head against the window as the bliss receded -- not until he heard the deep <em>thump </em>of forehead-onto-glass.</p><p>His eyes flew open in time to see Sansa jump and turn.</p><p>Petyr quickly folded his body behind the curtain and hiked his trousers up to his waist. Moving backwards, he hastened to refasten the buttons and leave the room, sticking to the shadows.</p><p>#</p><p>Over their take-out dinner, Sansa’s clear blue eyes studied Petyr. Boxes of Chinese food littered the counter. Petyr wasn’t even sure what he’d ordered, he requested half the menu. He couldn’t remember ever being so ravenous, he was generally a light eater.</p><p>Yet now that Sansa stared, his appetite receded. For food, anyway.</p><p>“Work was quiet today?” she asked, her eyes never leaving his.</p><p>“Quite,” Petyr replied, with a bored wave of his hand.  </p><p>
  <em>Thank my luck. </em>
</p><p>“Mhm. And you came home at… two, did you say?”</p><p>“I don’t recall exactly,” he shrugged. “Somewhere around there.”</p><p>
  <em>Oh, I recall every thing about this afternoon and I’m not like to forget it. </em>
</p><p>Sansa leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms and watching him.</p><p>“Is there something you want to ask me, sweetling?” Petyr goaded, taking the offense so that she might back down. “You seem distracted.”</p><p>She’d been distracted all evening and Petyr wasn’t sure what she suspected. Reaching over, he tried to top off her wine, but Sansa laid her hand over the rim, stopping him.</p><p>“Sansa. My name is Sansa. And I think I’ve had enough to drink today. I’d like to keep a clear head. Although, I don’t know what else I’m expected to do when you won’t let me leave this prison. Even the other Sansa was allowed out for occasional walk, like a dog.” Sansa goaded in return, clearly irate, but she spoke very slowly, carefully.</p><p>“I’m not even granted the privileges of a pet. Am I less than a dog, Petyr?”</p><p>Petyr rubbed his beard. <em>Did she suspect? Or did she know, and she was toying with him, baiting him somehow?</em> This Sansa was much more difficult than her previous incarnation and it kept him on his toes. A feeling he rather enjoyed.</p><p>“That was before we knew someone wanted to kill her. <em>You.</em> If you wind up dead, then yes. I’d say that’s less than everything.”</p><p>“Convenient,” Sansa remarked, standing and tossing her plate in the sink with a clatter. “Everything works out so conveniently for you, doesn’t it?”</p><p>“You’ve mentioned that before. Does that bother you?”</p><p>Petyr shrugged. He wasn’t bothered.</p><p>“Why shouldn’t it?” Sansa scoffed. “One version of you betrays me and the other locks me up in this condo, while you… well I don’t know what you did with the other Sansa, but you deny me the freedom of leaving or even using the internet. And you send me to bed on your whims and you…”</p><p>Petyr cocked an eyebrow. <em>Were they flirting again, like the previous evening? Or was she angry with him? </em>It was difficult to parse out. He didn’t even think she knew herself.</p><p>“…you come and go as you please,” she finished, with a huff.</p><p>Petyr exhaled a short breath. He thought she might accuse him of spying on her. Or worse. Comment on what he’d actually done.</p><p>He wasn’t sure if it was something in his face or if Sansa simply changed her mind and worked up the courage, but she suddenly held his gaze and spat –</p><p>
  <em>“Maybe you did. Come. As you pleased.” </em>
</p><p>It was one of those clichéd silences where one could hear a pin drop.</p><p>From the way Sansa’s eyes searched his face he could tell it was a guess, a stab in the dark. Worded vaguely to temper embarrassment if she was wrong. But the crystal-clear memory of her wet, bare body unleashed something primal in Petyr that caused his tongue to snake out and tap his lip. Not quite a lick, but a hungry half-swipe regardless.</p><p>For a brief moment, Sansa’s eyes widened. Recalling her naked glory, replaying her every move, no doubt. Then Petyr saw her jaw tense.</p><p>
  <em>She couldn’t know. Not fully. </em>
</p><p>Sansa stormed out of the room and Petyr followed, concerned she’d search for - and find - the evidence on his curtains.</p><p>Not knowing where she headed, he echoed her steps into the great room when Sansa surprised him by halting. She turned and stalked back, pointing a finger. Sansa’s face took on that fiery beauty when she was angry and it stoked a responding fire in Petyr. Somewhere lower.</p><p>“Did you see me? Answer me!”</p><p>
  <em>No, I didn’t see your gorgeous, naked body. </em>
</p><p>She pushed his shoulders and he let his upper body rock backward with the effort.  </p><p>“The truth, Petyr. Did you watch me?”</p><p>
  <em>No. I don’t know what you mean. I was at the office. </em>
</p><p>When his lip curled on one side there was no sense in hiding.</p><p>
  <em>Might was well make the most of it. </em>
</p><p>He raised his eyebrows and let the smirk form.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Sansa let out a small puff of air, closing her eyes.</p><p>When she opened them, it happened all at once.</p><p>Sansa lunged at Petyr as he defended himself. Or he lunged at Sansa as she defended herself. He couldn’t be sure who pushed and who pulled in the tussle that erupted in the span of one heartbeat.</p><p>Reason flew out the window, along with all thought other than <em>her.</em></p><p>Getting as close to her as possible. Calming her or claiming her -- the direction didn’t matter. Just needing her and everything from her.</p><p>It was like a crime of passion, when the defendant declared momentary insanity -- except it wasn’t blood lust to <em>kill, </em>but undiluted, concentrated lust to <em>consume.</em> It commanded Petyr’s mind more powerfully than Bran’s drug.</p><p>Somehow, he’d pressed Sansa against the wall, pressed his whole body to hers, hands fisting her wrists beside her head.</p><p>He was going to kiss her deeply and see it felt the way it did before. He was going to devour her. Fuck her, take her, make her shout his name and beg to come. Break her like a wave over rock as she shook and collapsed in his lap…</p><p><em>“Stop,”</em> Sansa whined. It was too weak to even be called a cry.</p><p>Petyr froze.</p><p>A tortured moan sounded at the back of her throat.</p><p>Petyr saw the tendons in her neck flex with the noise, he’d been staring at that pale expanse of exposed throat, baring his teeth to nip it.</p><p>Guarded, he shifted his gaze to her eyes but Sansa wasn’t looking at him. Her pupils were blown wide, her cheeks flushed, her chest rose and fell rapidly with short, shallow breaths.</p><p>She was aroused. Her body said it.</p><p>But her lips, plump and parted, <em>quivered.</em></p><p>
  <em>What just happened?</em>
</p><p>Sansa squeezed her eyes shut, but a tear leaked on one side.</p><p>“We’ve already done this before,” she croaked.</p><p>The weight of her words made Petyr loosen his grip, drop her arms.</p><p>
  <em>Done what?</em>
</p><p>Sansa shook free and pushed past him. He leaned back, letting her go.</p><p><em>Done what?</em> he wanted to ask, licking his lips. <em>This, exactly?</em></p><p>He watched her race up the stairs, staring at the swing of her long red hair. Confused. Rendered speechless, admittedly.</p><p>
  <em>Was he repeating what the other Petyr had done? Had these same events unfolded in her world?</em>
</p><p>#</p><p>The timing couldn’t have been worse.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Package received. Be there in five. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Petyr planned on giving Sansa some space. A few minutes, at least.</p><p>That wasn’t possible now.</p><p>He could pivot, could rapidly switch gears. But could she?</p><p>Even he had to admit his pulse raced at little at what was about to happen. Reaching into another secret compartment in his bathroom vanity, Petyr retrieved the hidden Berretta and tucked it into his pants.</p><p>The text he’d just received confirmed they had Sansa’s murderer in the back of a van. Within minutes, the killer would be escorted into the playroom.</p><p>Petyr didn’t plan on anything forthcoming to be remotely playful.</p><p>He rapped gently on Sansa’s bedroom door.</p><p>She didn’t answer. He didn’t want to invade, not in this instance.</p><p>“Sansa,” he called through the wood. “I need you to open the door. We have him. The one who killed the other you.”</p><p>A pause and then, Petyr heard footsteps.</p><p>The girl who met him at the door might have been gearing up to race a marathon or compete in a live debate. The determined, hard set of her face revealed no trace of what transpired moments before.</p><p>He stepped back to let her pass.</p><p>Oh, she could pivot.</p><p>#</p><p>Sansa wouldn’t allow herself to flinch, though the sight of that much blood and screaming jarred her more than she imagined.</p><p>It’s not like the excuse-for-a-man didn’t deserve it. And it’s not like Sansa hadn’t seen her own blood, heard her own screams, at Ramsay’s hands. But watching it happen to someone else was disturbing in other ways.  </p><p>Not for Petyr.</p><p>As transfixed as he was on this man, Sansa was on <em>him.</em></p><p>What captivated her so was Petyr’s quiet anger. It was <em>personal.</em></p><p>Littlefinger didn’t get his hands dirty. Lothor would have - should have - done the gory questioning.</p><p>How perverse that it was only as the sharp blade sliced another man’s skin, Sansa began to believe the genuine affection Petyr had for her other self, as if each swipe of the knife cut away a bit of haze between the truth and her understanding.</p><p>She and Petyr hadn’t spoken much about their relationships with their counterparts. Sansa wouldn’t have trusted whatever Petyr said and she certainly had no desire to delve into the staggering depth of his betrayal.</p><p>Now, for the first time, Sansa could see <em>something</em> real occurred between this Petyr and the other Sansa.</p><p>It didn’t mean Petyr had loved her and it didn’t mean he wouldn’t have betrayed her if it came to that. But for the first time, she believed he developed at least <em>some</em> form of genuine feelings for her other self.</p><p>Sansa couldn’t help but wonder how it happened between the two of them. In her world… it began eerily similar to what occurred that evening. And Petyr never hesitated to press her against the wall whenever he desired to kiss her. Which was often.</p><p>“It was an accident!” the murderer yelled. “I only meant to take her but she fought back. I never meant to hurt her, I swear. I didn’t mean to kill her. I’m sorry!”</p><p>The man, strapped to a chair and bleeding on the floor, wailed. This no one, this nobody. The other Sansa had been murdered by a mere tool, a catspaw. That the worthless fool couldn’t have masterminded the attack, that he acted on behalf of someone else, didn’t lessen Petyr’s quiet rage. He’d already known that. Sansa knew it too.</p><p>But the name he finally offered as the man who gave the order couldn’t be believed.</p><p>“Theon…” he groaned. “Greyjock or something.”</p><p>“Lies,” Petyr dismissed. “Theon Greyjoy hasn’t left the Iron Islands, where he’s been posted for years. He’s in the navy, barely sets foot on land.”</p><p>It was impossible, Sansa knew. Theon would never betray her, not in any land.</p><p>Petyr raised the dagger, ready to slice again.</p><p>“Wait,” Sansa said, suddenly remembering. She licked her lips. “It might be true… it… a mistake.”</p><p>The murderer looked at Sansa, something he’d been unwilling to do most of the evening. She was a ghost to him, after all. His damnation personified, reanimated, directing his torture.</p><p>Pausing, Petyr narrowed his eyes at her.</p><p>Sansa took a breath. “She left a diary. In it, she confessed to meeting someone in a coffee shop. A man she trusted. If it was Theon, she might have told him where she was and, and… I don’t know. Maybe he wanted to save her, maybe he thought you were holding her against her will, manipulating her.”</p><p><em>“Diary?”</em> Petyr growled the word.</p><p>Now might not have been the best time to confess she’d been keeping secrets.</p><p>“I- yes. I – I found it.” Sansa bit her lip.</p><p>“See, I’m telling the truth!” the murderer yelled.</p><p>“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me? Anything in this diary that might be critical to – I don’t know – maybe what we’re doing right now?”</p><p>Petyr was pissed. He spoke evenly. Too level.</p><p>Sansa swallowed. It wasn’t a good idea to anger a man holding a knife, covered in another man’s blood, especially when that man was Petyr. Especially when she had already tried to kill him and that cage was <em>right there.</em></p><p>She shook her head rapidly.</p><p>“Good.” Petyr turned to Lothor. “Escort Sansa to her room.”</p><p>He turned back to her.</p><p>“I’ll be in shortly and we can discuss this diary.”</p><p>The murderer whined again. Perhaps he understood that meant he had little time left to live.</p><p>#</p><p>When her door creaked open, Sansa leapt off the bed.</p><p>Petyr entered, clear of any trace of blood, wearing a fresh pair of black pants and a clean, deep gray shirt.</p><p>It was a strange time to find Petyr attractive but… she did.</p><p>He was so damn unflappable. They’d just killed a man. And not in the honorable manner in which her father enforced justice from time to time, in their underground world. Petyr had brutally slain someone, yet he came to her as impeccably as if he’d just left the office.</p><p>“What happened?” Sansa demanded. “I had a right to be there, Petyr. I know you’re angry, but I had a right.”</p><p>“You did. And you were. But that wasn’t your kill.”</p><p>Sansa cocked her head, digesting the idea.  </p><p>Was he right? Did Petyr have more claim to vengeance than she did? Was it a personal moment he didn’t want to share?</p><p>Sansa knit her brow… it was all too strange to wrap her head around.</p><p>“Is he dead?” she asked.</p><p>“He is.”</p><p>Relief flooded her. She nodded, not feeling remorse at all.</p><p>“Now. Where is this diary?” Petyr bit out.</p><p>Sansa walked to her closet and retrieved the journal from its hiding place. She handed it over, feeling guilty.</p><p>“Is there anything else you want to tell me?”</p><p>She shook her head.</p><p>“And you?” Sansa asked. “Are you keeping secrets? Where is Theon? I want to talk to him.”</p><p>“He’s at sea. He’ll return in a few weeks and I’ll bring him here, to question.”</p><p>“Petyr, you can’t hurt him,” Sansa pled. “Whatever happened, he didn’t mean to hurt me. I know it.”</p><p>“Oh? Then why didn’t he just come out and confess what happened? Why did he disappear?”</p><p>“What was he supposed to do? Find you and tell you he’s sorry? That you might have been hurting me, but he tried to save me and got me killed instead? If that’s even what happened. We have no idea. But you don’t know him like I do. I know this is all some kind of mistake.”</p><p>“And what makes you so sure?” he challenged.  </p><p>Sansa pursed her lips. She didn’t want to talk about it. Not yet.</p><p>Petyr sighed and asked a bit coldly, “Are you able to manage tonight or do you need something to help you sleep?”</p><p>“I – I’m okay,” Sansa whispered.</p><p>“Then get some rest. I’ve got some reading to do,” he said, pointedly. “We can talk in the morning.”</p><p>Petyr shut the door, locking her inside.</p><p>
  <em>Well, I broke trust first, I suppose. And he’s never going to leave the door open at night anyway. </em>
</p><p>Sansa changed into her pajamas, but when she laid down her mind raced for hours and she wished she’d taken Petyr up on his offer for a sleeping pill.</p><p>#</p><p>“You’re leaving. Again?” Sansa asked. “I thought you had men to take care of the… problem.”</p><p>She had thought Petyr would want to discuss the diary. Or what happened between them against the wall. Or their torturing a man together.</p><p>
  <em>Something. </em>
</p><p>“I do. But there are other matters at hand. I’ve been outside of daily affairs for too long. It’s critical that I return to the Lannister fold. And I’ll find out what’s really going on behind your murder.”</p><p>“Petyr. You can’t keep me locked up in here all the time. He’s dead. The man who killed me is dead.”</p><p>“You and I both know that’s not the end of the story or our troubles,” he replied. “And yes, I can keep you in here at all times.”</p><p>“I told you. Don’t talk to me like a child.”</p><p>“Don’t make childish requests.”</p><p>Sansa pursed her lips, biting back words. Not because Petyr had a point she found incapable of arguing, but because the way he spoke to her aroused that confusing anger in her belly and that tingle, just a bit lower.</p><p>It was dangerous, her body’s own treachery, because it helped lead her into Petyr’s. Like a lamb to the slaughter.</p><p>Sansa rose from her chair.  </p><p>“Fine. Go. I’ll amuse myself.” Then the devil caught her tongue and she added breathily, “I mean, I’m sure I’ll find something <em>amusing </em>to do <em>with </em>myself.”</p><p>She regretted it the moment it was out of her mouth. But she left the room, not turning around to see Petyr’s reaction.</p><p>#</p><p>Petyr entered her bedroom that evening carrying the small, white tube he’d procured.</p><p>“What’s that?” Sansa asked.</p><p>He’d left her alone all day and most of the night as well, while he met with Cersei and Varys. At the end of the month - after a respectful mourning period - events to celebrate Myrcella’s ascendance needed planning.</p><p>More to the point, they needed funding.</p><p>“Scar cream,” Petyr replied. “I know a man in pharmaceuticals. This isn’t on the market yet. I thought it would help… that I could help you. Put it on.”</p><p>He tried to speak as delicately as possible. He didn’t know how much pain Sansa carried as a result of the scars.</p><p>She studied him for a long time before she nodded.</p><p>Slowly, Sansa turned around, offering Petyr her back. He climbed onto the bed behind her.</p><p>“I do believe most of your scars will fade. Especially with this cream. All of them, in fact.” He gently laid his hand where the long cut ran from her neck to her backside. “Except this one.”</p><p>“I know,” Sansa whispered.</p><p>She stiffened when he lifted her airy, white tank top, baring the marked flesh. It wasn’t bad, really, being a straight line. It could have been worse. It could have been her face.</p><p>It was even cleaner than his own scar. Just one thin line, bisecting her back.</p><p>Petyr squirted a bit of the gel into his hand and worked small circles down the length of the mark.</p><p>For a moment, they were both quiet, and then Sansa whispered, “He didn’t restrain me when he gave me that one. The threat of slicing my spine was enough to keep me still. As still as could be expected.”</p><p>Petyr could hear her struggle to find her voice as she said, “I screamed a lot instead.”</p><p>When he finished, Sansa snatched the tube from his hands and dismissed him, saying she’d do the others herself. She could reach the marks on her legs, after all.</p><p>But the next evening, Sansa let Petyr rub the gel onto the other cuts on her back.</p><p>In the mornings, too, he often returned to help her with another dose.  </p><p>Sometimes Sansa told him how she received the mark. Sometimes she told him other things.</p><p>
  <em>He hated periods. When I got mine, Ramsay locked me up for a week without any way to clean myself. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He pissed in my fucking water and made me drink it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He… he hurt another girl in front of me and made me watch.</em>
</p><p>Raped. She didn’t say the word. Ever.</p><p>Sansa became a Scheherazade of nightly horrors, each story doled out in small pieces, as if relating too much at once would crush her. And each night, she allowed Petyr to tend more scars as she spoke.</p><p>In some very small way, Petyr realized, she was lucky. Ramsay’s sick designs to demean Sansa saved her from more physical pain. If the deranged boy didn’t degrade and torture her pride, Sansa would have suffered more torture to her flesh.</p><p>Of the cutting kind, at least.</p><p>Ramsay hurt her physically in other ways, Petyr knew.</p><p>But Sansa didn’t talk about that yet. Nor did she say what part the other Petyr played in her life, not fully.</p><p><em>“I want to see my family,”</em> she’d sometimes yearn, but she didn’t ask for a visitation. Petyr suspected she had reasons, other than knowing he’d refuse her, but he didn’t know for certain what they were.</p><p>During the day, Petyr gave Sansa information he’d compiled for her to peruse. Vast quantities of website print-outs to keep her busy, to bring her up to speed on their world. He left the condo as necessary, to mingle and re-establish ties.</p><p>In the evenings, it became a ritual -- he smoothed cream onto Sansa’s body, Sansa relaxed into his hands.</p><p>She didn’t fail to notice.</p><p>Petyr showed remarkable restraint. He didn’t like the idea of repeating his moves, of Sansa knowing more than he did, of the mind-boggling notion of him being outmaneuvered by some version of himself that got there first. But his hands took liberties, dipping lower on the small of her back with each passing night.</p><p>She noticed that too.</p><p>“You’re like the fox in the Gingerbread Man,” Sansa said. "My mother used to read it to Bran. Do you know that story, Petyr?”</p><p>“I regret that I do not,” he replied, working his hands down her spine.</p><p>“An old woman bakes a gingerbread man and he comes to life. She tries to eat him and he runs away. A pig tries to eat him, a cow, a horse… various animals in various versions of the story… but they all end the same. As the gingerbread man runs, he comes to a river, and a sly fox offers to help him cross.</p><p>‘Jump onto my tail,’ the fox says, and the gingerbread man does. ‘You’re too heavy,’ the fox protests, ‘jump onto my back.’ And the gingerbread man does as he’s asked. ‘You’re still too heavy, jump onto my nose,’ the fox says at last, and the gingerbread man finally settles onto the fox’s nose.”</p><p>Sansa kept her eyes forward as she finished the story.  </p><p>“And when they reach the riverbank, the fox flips the gingerbread man up into the air, snaps his mouth shut, and devours him.”</p><p>So many replies danced on Petyr’s tongue. It was too easy.</p><p>But at the same time, it wasn’t.</p><p>Instead, he risked a soft kiss onto Sansa’s shoulder.</p><p>“Goodnight, sweetling,” he rasped.</p><p>She stiffened, yanking back the robe that had pooled at her waist.</p><p>“I’m not your sweetling,” she snapped.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you liked this chapter! </p><p>But, I hope no one takes this as writing a good way to deal with trauma. If this were the real modern world, Sansa should get herself to therapy, that's the healthy thing to do. But I don't write healthy stories and I'm trying to maintain a "Westeros" feel, where people don't sit on therapist's couches and work out their issues. In fact, I usually have Sansa and Petyr proceed in the unhealthiest manner possible, so lots of bad decisions on their part are forthcoming. </p><p>Also, the non-fanfic shorts I'm messing around with are <a href="https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B088KNXDFC">here.</a> I would not recommend anyone to buy them as they're quick &amp; dirty (and they borrow bones from my fanfic anyway), but if you have KU and want to poke around, they're free. That's my dirty pen name, anyway. I have a clean pen name with a completed Young Adult novel... or I will, once I get it listed correctly, and I'll share it in the future.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sansa folded her arms. “How long do you intend to keep me as a prisoner in here?”</p><p>“You say that like it’s a dungeon. I hardly think the most expensive residential real estate in downtown King’s Landing is a prison. There are journalists who’d kill for a chance to feature this condo in their glossy magazines. Half the glitterati of King’s Landing have tried to bribe or flatter their way up here.”</p><p>Sansa cocked an eyebrow. “Half? What are you implying, the female half? Would the women of King’s Landing just <em>kill </em>for a chance to see your sexy bachelor pad, Petyr?”</p><p>He smirked. “Oh, plenty of women outside of the capitol have tried as well.”</p><p>Sansa rolled her eyes and repeated, “How long, Petyr?”</p><p>“Theon’s ship returns next week,” he said, matter-of-fact. “Once we question him – once we figure out whatever <em>misunderstanding </em>happened and the air is clear – you’ll be free to fly your gilded cage and see your family.”</p><p>
  <em>Interesting choice of words. </em>
</p><p>Sansa sat back in her chair. She was going stir-crazy and she didn’t want to admit it, but the only thing making bearable the long days and nights was Petyr’s company. Those times didn’t feel long at all… but then he was flitting back out to some function or another, greasing palms or stroking egos or whatever he did all day and half the nights.</p><p>Sometimes… <em>dammit</em>… sometimes he looked so good in a suit when he went out for the evening that Sansa’s heart <em>fluttered </em>remembering how she longed to walk beside him, how she wanted to make him swell with pride, wearing some gorgeous gown as they turned heads together…</p><p><em>A naïve fancy,</em> she chided herself.</p><p>Sometimes… her eyes darted lower and she remembered the night she burned to break his cool façade. When the other Petyr was headed out that same door… immaculate attire, impeccable composure… and she grew bold enough to unbuckle his leather belt, slide down his trousers and make him lose all control, gripping the doorframe and spending himself in her mouth.</p><p><em>That fancy wasn’t as childish,</em> she mused.</p><p>Sansa noticed Petyr scrutinizing her as if he could read the naughty memory playing in her mind. She tried not to fidget.</p><p>“Why are you really helping me?” she asked, as Petyr finally stood to leave. “Why spend all this time and effort? And don’t just say it’s because you cared for the other Sansa.”  </p><p>Petyr’s mysterious green-gray eyes stared at her for a long moment, then he turned and left for his office without answering the question.</p><p><em>Well,</em> Sansa thought. <em>At least he didn’t lie. </em></p><p>#</p><p>Petyr didn’t like complicated women. It was only a matter of time before those complications worked their way into the bedroom and encounters became tedious for their drama. It wasn’t that he didn’t like intelligent women, playful women… but he preferred them drama-free. Undamaged.</p><p>Yet here he was. <em>Wanting.</em></p><p><em>This Sansa was perhaps the most damaged creature he ever met,</em> Petyr mused, driving to his office and smoking a cigarette. And it roused in him a desire to fix it, soothe it. There was probably something unhealthy about that he couldn’t be bothered to examine.</p><p>He never knew when Sansa would accept his help or when she’d lash out with her claws, the wounded wolf-pup. He didn’t want to de-claw her, he simply wanted to… perhaps tape up those little paws so that she wouldn’t scratch him… or herself.</p><p>He couldn’t stop thinking about <em>that kiss </em>and he grew impatient to repeat it. He stared at her pouty little pink mouth as she spoke or absent-mindedly tugged one lip, in worry.</p><p>But he couldn’t make another attempt like the one against the wall and risk her pushing him away again. Then he might not get another chance. Entirely inconvenient, but he needed her to want it.</p><p>Petyr felt… something different about that kiss.</p><p>He never would have considered himself a superstitious man, a believer in much of anything - other than his own abilities. <em>But the examination of previously-held beliefs had to be conducted in light of new information,</em> he thought, tossing his spent cigarette out the window. <em>That was the rational way.</em></p><p>Sansa had dropped out of the sky, a gift from the apparent multiverse.</p><p>But to repeat what happened in the cage and to see if she felt the same, she needed to be totally conscious, even fully willing.</p><p>Tricky.</p><p><em>Perhaps,</em> Petyr thought with annoyance, <em>he might even need to wait for </em>her<em> to kiss </em>him.</p><p>#</p><p>“What are you doing?” Sansa exclaimed, nearly jumping from her lounge chair.</p><p>Petyr blinked. “Having a swim.”</p><p>Sansa opened and closed her mouth. He hadn’t used the pool since she’d arrived. Suddenly Petyr appeared on the terrace in swim trunks and nothing else. She hadn’t seen this much of him since she’d shoved him into his playroom cage.</p><p><em>Put on something decent,</em> she wanted to protest, averting her eyes. But that was ridiculous. She was ridiculous.</p><p>He would notice.</p><p>Sansa forced her gaze back to Petyr’s half-naked body. Was he scrunching his lips to stifle a grin?</p><p><em>Fuck. What was worse? Tearing her eyes away and having him know how much he affected her or looking and having to imprint </em>that <em>on her brain?</em></p><p>Debating, Sansa licked her lips and immediately realized she’d made matters worse, again.</p><p>With a huff, she grabbed her sunglasses and stretched back out on the lounge chair. Maybe she’d arched a bit, cat-like. Maybe she bent one leg a little, posing.</p><p>Was he doing this on purpose? Revenge of some sort for seeing her sunbathing nude, as if that were her fault? Neither of them had spoken of that incident again. It was their quiet way. But she knew Petyr thought of it often… as well as what happened after… against the wall…</p><p>
  <em>Stop it. Don’t look, don’t think. </em>
</p><p>With her eyes concealed behind her sunglasses, Sansa titled her face toward the sun, ignoring Petyr as he swam laps.</p><p>She recited recipes in her head. She conjured up images of her favorite outfits from her old life. She tried to recount in her mind the names of all the Stark staff and their children.</p><p>After several painfully long minutes, she heard the <em>whoosh </em>of water as Petyr pulled himself out of the pool.</p><p>
  <em>Don’t look, don’t look. </em>
</p><p>Sansa opened her eyes and flicked them toward the sound.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, fuck me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Oh, seven hells, just… Fuck. Me. </em>
</p><p>Her cunt spasmed seeing Petyr, wet, dripping onto the tile.</p><p>
  <em>Gods dammit. </em>
</p><p>Petyr shook the water from his hair, then ran his hands through it, combing it back.</p><p>Legs, arms, chest, lips, fuck. She wanted to lick every wet inch of him.</p><p>Sansa looked down to see her nipples, hard. <em>Fucking fantastic.</em> Glaringly obvious through her bikini, unable to be dismissed by the cold when sweat dripped down her body.</p><p>She had to get a hold on her breathing. She had to stop her hips from rocking. Had to still herself in the chair as Petyr strode past, returning to his bedroom.</p><p>Her jaw slackened.</p><p>
  <em>Oh gods, he’s changing now. He’s naked on the other side of that door. </em>
</p><p>How easy would it be to just follow him into his room? The bed was <em>right there. </em></p><p>Petyr desired her. Sansa knew he did.</p><p>All she’d have to do was walk into the room, and he’d do the rest. He always took control, and Sansa had loved that. She simply bared a shoulder or looked up through her lashes… and his eyes darkened and he ran with it. Grabbed her by the hand or the waist and carried her off in blissful directions she’d never imagined…</p><p><em>But then,</em> Sansa reminded, with a sharp ache in her heart… <em>then when he had you in the palm of his hand… he’d squeeze.</em></p><p>And you’d break.</p><p>And this time, you wouldn’t recover.</p><p>#</p><p>“You look nice,” Sansa said slowly, eyeing Petyr from the kitchen stool.</p><p>It wasn’t a compliment. It was an accusation, suspicious. Petyr wore a suit unusually formal for a day at the office.</p><p>She bit the inside of her mouth.</p><p>He did look frustratingly fuckable.</p><p>But that wasn’t the point. That was very much<em> not</em> the point of anything.</p><p>“I have a meeting after work and then there’s a Tyrell gala, a fundraiser for a new park uptown. There won’t be time to change.”</p><p>“You’re going to be gone all day and night again?”</p><p>Petyr walked close to Sansa and placed his fingers beneath her chin, tilting up her face. Angrily, she shook him off.</p><p>“Are you saying you miss me when I’m gone, sweetling?” Petyr asked.</p><p>
  <em>What the hell was he doing? </em>
</p><p>With a scoff, Sansa shot to her feet. Standing, she had the height advantage. Not by much, but every inch counted.</p><p>“My name is Sansa. And you’ve made me entirely reliant on you for company. Food. Shelter. Protection. The very clothes on my back. While I wait around at your beck and call. <em>Dependent.</em> That’s what you do, Petyr. In this world, or any other.”</p><p>“Is that so?”</p><p>“Yes. It is.”</p><p>“Well, then,” Petyr replied, staring at her harder than she’d like. “You’ll be pleased to know I’ve called Olyvar over for the day. He’s all too happy to entertain you while I’m detained.”</p><p>Petyr cocked his head. “So. Are you? Pleased?”</p><p>“I – yes.” Surprised at the news, Sansa fought a wave of confusing emotions. She wasn’t disappointed. This was <em>good </em>news. So Petyr was going to some gala, dressed like that. Where he’d probably charm Tyrell women, if he didn’t already have a date. Good. She hoped he had a date. Otherwise, he’d come home and maybe make a move on her and she certainly didn’t want that.</p><p><em>“What?”</em> she demanded, noticing Petyr’s eyes dancing, as if he held a secret.</p><p>“Does it bother you so, waiting around for my return?”</p><p>
  <em>What the? Why was he antagonizing her? </em>
</p><p>“Yes. I already said that. Uh – I mean no. Not at all.”</p><p>
  <em>Wait. What was the question?</em>
</p><p>“I mean, go. Stay out as long as you want. If Olyvar’s going to be here, feel free to spend the night somewhere else if you like, I don’t care.”</p><p>
  <em>Why had she just said that? What was wrong with her?</em>
</p><p>Petyr raised his eyebrows and Sansa blushed.</p><p>“Where else would I be spending the night, sweetling?”</p><p>Sansa’s heart started to pound and she felt suddenly clammy.</p><p>“I – I don’t know and I don’t care. I mean, it’s none of my business. I’m just saying, if you meet someone at your gala, don’t come home on my account. Because I’m fine here, I don’t care.”</p><p>
  <em>Shut up, shut up.</em>
</p><p>She was going to smack Petyr across the face. She could tell he tried not to chuckle.</p><p><em>I </em>don’t <em>care, </em>Sansa wanted to insist, but saying it a third time would only make it look like she did. Which wasn’t the case.</p><p>Sansa chose to school her expression into her Ice Queen glare. Haughty. Bored.</p><p>Petyr might have taken it as a challenge.</p><p>He leaned close to Sansa and rasped in her ear, “If you don’t like being dependent on the clothes I provide, feel free to take them off. I recall a similar act of rebellion not long ago.”</p><p>Sansa’s eyes widened - <em>was that flirting or antagonizing?</em> Her hands itched to smack him across the face – but she suspected he almost wanted her to. He seemed bent on getting a rise out of her in some way this morning.</p><p>What she didn’t understand, <em>was why?</em></p><p>Unless… did he think it might lead to something against the wall again?</p><p>Sansa lifted her chin, refusing to give him the satisfaction of winning this… game. Whatever it was.</p><p>“Well then,” Petyr said, straightening. “I appreciate your understanding about the evening.” He crossed the room, lingering for a moment in the doorway to add, “I’ll keep it in mind, should I meet anyone… appealing… at the gala.”</p><p>Sansa made a face somewhere between disgust and dismissiveness. He was taunting her. <em>Right?</em> Provoking her. Petyr had no intentions of spending the night elsewhere. That was just an attempt to one-up her and win… whatever little game this was.</p><p>Sansa turned her head away, shrugging. She didn’t watch as Petyr left the condo.</p><p>#</p><p><em>He’s not going to spend the night somewhere else,</em> Sansa repeated, watching Olyvar pour late-morning mimosas. <em>That was just a taunt.</em></p><p><em>Well… not a </em>taunt<em>… because that would imply he thought you cared. </em></p><p>And you don’t.</p><p><em>The clothing though… I do care about that,</em> Sansa mused, sipping her second mimosa. Did Petyr think he could just dress her, like she was his doll? And she’d wait around in his condo, wearing fashions of his choosing, for him to deign to return and play with her?</p><p>
  <em>Bad choice of words. </em>
</p><p>But he <em>did</em> flirt, he <em>was</em> interested, Sansa knew it.</p><p>Did he think he could spend the night elsewhere and return to put the moves on her the next morning?</p><p>“Olyvar,” Sansa cooed, sipping her third mimosa, but being mindful to drink plenty of water along with it. She wanted to keep her buzz; she wanted Olyvar sloshed. “Can we do some online shopping today? Petyr gave you my measurements but, well… this is embarrassing but the cup sizes of some of my bras aren’t right. You have to take into consideration the band size as well, and the ratio is off and brands are inconsistent… do you know what I mean?”</p><p>Olyvar smiled, “Not entirely, but I follow. How about I leave it to you to choose?”</p><p>Sansa smiled sweetly.</p><p>She peaked over Olyvar’s shoulder while he unlocked his phone. He pulled up some websites and Sansa directed him to styles she liked. Olyvar drove, not allowing her internet access, but that was okay. She didn’t need it – yet. Instead, she topped off his glass as he entered his credit card numbers.</p><p>She topped his glass again when they visited the next site.</p><p>Sansa excused herself to get a pen from Petyr’s room at one point. Her memory was impressive, but not photographic.</p><p>In the afternoon, when it was sweltering, Sansa suggested another round of cocktails and a swim.</p><p>“Oh,” she suddenly remarked, as they sipped fruity drinks in the pool. “I think… uh... I’ve got… lady issues. Um. I need to go to the bathroom.”</p><p>Sansa bit her lip, looking down, “I’ll uh… be awhile.”</p><p>Olyvar held up his hand, laughing, “Take your time.”</p><p><em>Oh, I intend to.</em> Sansa thought. <em>And I’m taking your phone with me.</em></p><p>#</p><p>Petyr’s cellphone rang not long after he made it to the gala. He looked down.</p><p>
  <em>Lothor Brune. </em>
</p><p>“Excuse me,” he bowed, slipping from the circle of Tyrell elites.</p><p>“Yes?” he asked, once out of earshot.</p><p>“You need to get back here, boss.”</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“Olyvar is trying to handle it without disrupting you, but… it’s Lady Sansa. She got a hold of Olyvar’s credit card somehow and there’s a personal shopper and two deliverymen bringing up a bunch of stuff into your condo. I didn’t want to rouse more suspicion by turning them away at the door. Olyvar is trying to handle the personal shopper, to keep him from snooping around. He’s the biggest threat of the trio, the others are simply ogling your stuff. Including your… daughter.”</p><p>“My what?”</p><p>#</p><p>Petyr ran through half the red lights on his way home. Fuck the traffic cameras. Fuck the other cars swerving and slamming on breaks to avoid collisions.</p><p>He keyed up Olyvar’s contact information and sent one text message.</p><p>
  <em>What happened?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Olyvar’s reply came a moment later.</p><p>
  <em>She copied the credit card numbers. Maxed it out. Three men are here for the numerous deliveries. I’m working on it. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Petyr ground his teeth, flashing a snarl. The credit card he gave to Olyvar. At least that meant no more than $25,000 could have been spent, minus whatever Olyvar had already charged this month. Not enough to raise fraud alerts. Not with his purchasing history.</p><p>By the time Petyr parked his Porsche in the garage, he’d calmed himself down, smoothed his expression. Whatever scene he met when he entered his condo, he’d take it in stride and dispense with the problem however necessary.  </p><p>Killing the deliverymen wasn’t an option; there’d be a record of their route. Bribery or blackmail would have to suffice, for now, to keep their mouths shut. Not that they’d find anything incriminating laying about, but he didn’t want them blabbing to the press about the <em>Enigmatic Mockingbird’s Sky Nest,</em> or whatever godawful headline they’d brainstorm.</p><p>Calmly, stoically, Petyr rode the elevator up to his floor.</p><p>Brune wasn’t waiting outside.</p><p>Unlocking the primary lock and punching the key into the secondary one, Petyr opened the door to find his man inside, arms folded, back turned. Lothor watched over the great room, just beyond the foyer.</p><p>Quickly, Petyr stepped beyond the half-wall separating the two rooms -- and saw red.</p><p><em>“Father!”</em> Sansa gushed, jumping up from the couch.</p><p>She wasn’t wearing the clothing he’d provided. No – she was.</p><p>Only she’d changed everything to resemble a bloody schoolgirl on the verge of a sexual awakening.</p><p>A <em>brown-haired</em> school girl; she’d somehow gotten her hands on the other Sansa’s old wig.</p><p>Her white, collared-shirt had been tied to bare her midriff. She’d somehow altered the pleated skirt that had once grazed her knees to now fall no more than two or three inches below her rear. She’d donned white knee-high socks from somewhere – he hadn’t purchased those, they must have been among her new acquirings - along with black, patent-leather shoes bearing a kitten heel no Catholic school would have approved. Her long, dark hair swung from a high ponytail, bouncing as much as she did as she bounded toward him.</p><p>Bounded toward him through a maze of <em>stuff.</em></p><p>A treadmill, a Peloton bike, cardboard boxes yet unopened, racks of clothing… <em>skiis?</em></p><p>Petyr’s mind divided, half of it planning the explanation to all of King’s Landing for his sudden bastard daughter and half of it unable to stop from conjuring images of ravishing her in bed as soon as humanly possible.  </p><p>Or wringing her pretty little neck. Then fucking her.</p><p><em>Backwards, </em>he corrected.<em> Fuck it, at the same time. </em></p><p><em>“Father,</em> I’m <em>so </em>glad you’re home!” Sansa exclaimed, throwing her arms around his shoulders and pressing her provocatively-dressed figure against his body. He could smell the liquor on her breath.</p><p>
  <em>She hadn’t worked up the nerve for this little stunt without liquid courage. </em>
</p><p>“I know you said we’d celebrate my birthday this weekend, and you wanted to make my <em>actual </em>birthday as special as possible by giving me this shopping spree today, but, a girl only turns eighteen once and I’m so happy you were able to leave that boring, stuffy meeting to come back home and celebrate with me!”</p><p>Petyr stared darkly. <em>Eighteen.</em></p><p>“Mr. Baelish.” One of the unwelcome strangers on his couch stood, reminding him they were there. “Your daughter Alyane has been uh… uh a real nice host to us…”</p><p>Alayne? Petyr blinked.</p><p>Sansa giggled. “I told them you didn’t want me alone on my birthday, so they offered to stay and help me celebrate! Isn’t that nice of them?”</p><p>Petyr didn’t need to look at the men to know nothing at all nice was on their minds.</p><p>He meant the question for Brune but he didn’t take his eyes off Sansa as he grit out, “Where’s Olyvar?”</p><p>Sansa replied, “Oh, Andrew had another appointment so Olyvar offered to drive him there. He’s just a doll, Andrew. The best personal shopper a girl could ask for.”</p><p>Petyr quickly deduced that Andrew, their biggest problem, was best handled through distraction… and was also likely interested in Olyvar’s preferred method of distraction. Olyvar must have left Sansa to be supervised by Lothor, who found this even less amusing than Petyr.</p><p>Sansa leaned in and kissed Petyr’s cheek.</p><p>“Thank you, daddy,” she cooed, laying breathy, taunting emphasis on the last word.</p><p>Petyr didn’t move a muscle, but he was positive his glare communicated his total fucking fury because Sansa backed away, giggling nervously.</p><p>She wasn’t too frightened though, because she spun, swaying her hips and bouncing back to join the unwelcome strangers on his couch.</p><p>“I invited Gus and Don to dinner tonight,” she called over her shoulder. “I hope that’s okay. They offered to keep me company so I wouldn’t have to eat my birthday dinner alone.”</p><p>Petyr clenched his jaw, blinking away the red that crept around the periphery of his vision.</p><p>Why the fuck hadn’t Olyvar texted him?</p><p>Petyr looked down at his cellphone.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Olyvar Hill</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Removing the personal shopper from the equation, he’s asking too many questions, trying to get into the playroom. Lothor says you’re on your way. I’m leaving him in charge until you get here. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don’t have my head for this, she’s sneaky. I’ll make it up to you. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Petyr blinked. How had he missed the message buzz?</p><p>Dammit, he knew he was going to have to play along with Sansa’s ploy, to charm his way through it. But dinner meant it was going to take longer than he’d like.</p><p>The buzzer rang from downstairs and he cocked his head.</p><p>“Ooh, the cake’s here!” Sansa cried, jumping up and clapping her hands.</p><p>#</p><p>Petyr stroked his beard. He’d have to be blind to miss what Sansa was doing.</p><p>Baiting him, torturing him, challenging him. This was her, throwing down the gauntlet.</p><p>And he couldn’t do a fucking thing about it until the unwelcome guests ate the last of their goddman cake and got the fuck out of his house.</p><p>Sansa didn’t want him lulling her into bed, like her Gingerbread Man story. She didn’t want him knocking, soft and gentle. It frightened her, she didn’t trust it. It gave her too much time to think.</p><p>Not this Sansa. She wanted him to burst in, picking the lock or even smashing the damn thing with a sledgehammer. She wanted guns blazing.</p><p>It was how she dropped into his world in the first place.</p><p>
  <em>Or… she didn’t want anything at all and was just fucking with his head? Because this Sansa was capable of things he couldn’t fathom? </em>
</p><p>Either way, it was wildly foolish and reckless to make her presence known in his condo, under any guise.</p><p>Petyr eyed the two men eying Sansa as she danced to music.</p><p>
  <em>I’m going to gouge their eyes out. </em>
</p><p>He watched them watching her as she pulled champagne from the terrace refrigerator.</p><p>“It’s my birthday!” she insisted. “I’m not twenty-one yet, but I’m of age in some countries and it’s not like I’m going anywhere tonight.”</p><p>
  <em>No you’re fucking not.</em>
</p><p>“Is it okay, dad? Just this once?”</p><p>A better man would stop her from drinking.</p><p>“Sure, darling,” he said, with a smile. And when she bounced around to pour him a glass, he locked eyes with her and whispered, “Drink up. You’re going to need it.”</p><p>He was gratified to see her shiver.  </p><p>He decided he liked this game. He just needed to seize control of it.</p><p>#</p><p>Sansa second-guessed her actions toward the end of the evening. She drank to make herself feel better about her choices as the consequences crept closer.</p><p>They excited her too.</p><p>She didn’t want to think about that. She didn’t want to think about regrets either. She didn’t want to <em>think.</em></p><p>Petyr played the friendly-yet-overprotective father role like a pro. Chumming up to the men, making sure they felt indebted to him, eager to remain in his good graces, hoping for lucrative opportunities with the renowned Mr. Baelish in the future.</p><p>It ruffled Sansa’s feathers a little. The more they wanted to impress Petyr, the less they openly leered at his daughter.</p><p>Petyr looked like he might kill someone whenever the men so much as glanced in her direction. It was only in his eyes… the intensity behind them gave Sansa a perverse thrill.</p><p>Whenever she moved, he moved, not far behind her. Guarding her with <em>paternal </em>concern. Absolutely not allowing either of the men anywhere near his teenage daughter alone. Going so far as to have Lothor escort her to the bathroom.</p><p>On her way back, Sansa found Petyr beside the terrace doors, smoking a cigarette and watching the two men finish their cake. She came up beside him.</p><p>Without turning, he said, “If you wanted me not to stay out late sweetling, you only had to ask.”</p><p>Sansa threw back her head with a soft laugh. “Is that what you think this is?”</p><p>“Oh, it’s a cry for attention, yes. In the most obnoxious way possible.”</p><p>Sansa giggled pointedly, announcing her return, and the two deliverymen whipped their heads in her direction.</p><p>Spinning around to face Petyr, she whispered, “I don’t need your attention, Petyr. See? If you’ll just let me out of this condo, I can find all the <em>attending </em>I need.”</p><p>Petyr grabbed her bicep, fingers digging hard enough into her skin to cause her to gasp.</p><p><em>Fuck,</em> the stern way he looked sent a jolt through her body. Her pussy clenched at nothing, seeking.</p><p>“I don’t appreciate this little stunt tonight,” Petyr said.</p><p>“I don’t appreciate <em>your</em> little stunt this morning.”</p><p>“You risked your safety, and mine. When they leave, I promise you’re going to regret it.”</p><p>“Why don’t you just leave with them? Don’t you have somewhere else you want to be tonight? Isn’t that right, Petyr?”</p><p>Petyr smiled coldly and whispered words that turned Sansa’s insides to mush and her knees to jelly.</p><p>“I’m not going anywhere tonight but to your bedroom. And I’m going to pull down your panties and give you the spanking you obviously need.”</p><p>Sansa reddened to her ears. Her heart pounded against her ribcage.</p><p>But if she was going down, she’d take him with her. </p><p>She leaned into Petyr’s ear and whispered, “You assume I’m wearing panties.”</p><p>#</p><p><em>You started this game,</em> Sansa reminded herself, when the front door slammed shut and her stomach dropped.</p><p>
  <em>Or did she? </em>
</p><p>Technically, Petyr did, with his threats of staying out all night while at the same time, clearly flirting with her.</p><p>But she didn’t think he’d be swayed by technicalities.</p><p>
  <em>They were alone. </em>
</p><p>There was always a subliminal threat, being alone in a room with Petyr. But now… now she’d poked the bear, raised the stakes. She hadn’t just acknowledged their tension, she lit a flashing marquee sign around it.</p><p>Hell, she practically strung marquee lights around herself saying, well… she didn’t want to think about the message she was sending.  </p><p>Sansa gulped. What did she think was going to happen, wearing an outfit like that and provoking Petyr?</p><p>It’s just… fantasizing about something when she was tipsy and actually having it come to pass when she’d sobered up were two totally different things.</p><p>Somewhere after cake, she’d changed her mind. Somewhere around the time the men collected their things to leave, she grew angry again.</p><p>
  <em>Petyr deserved what she’d done. Caging her and controlling everything. Why shouldn’t she be allowed to retaliate? </em>
</p><p>It was just like Petyr to want everything his way!</p><p>He was just pissed that she’d outsmarted him. Made a fool of him. That didn’t give him the right to… to…</p><p>Sansa gulped.</p><p>…spank her.</p><p>All it took was for Petyr to turn around. He closed and locked the door, then he turned those dark eyes to her.  </p><p>
  <em>What have I done? </em>
</p><p>Sansa’s stomach flipped.</p><p>She ran.  </p><p>Up the stairs.</p><p>She had no plan, she acted on pure panic.</p><p>Petyr was close behind her.</p><p>She ducked into his bedroom.</p><p>Not because she wanted to be <em>there,</em> but it was the only room with a lock.</p><p>She slammed the door too late. Petyr’s arm caught it, blocking its closure.</p><p>“Stop, Petyr, listen!” she said, holding up her hands.</p><p>Petyr pushed into the room and Sansa backed up, matching him step-for-step. When she hit the wall, she didn’t know what else to do.</p><p>Just like before, Petyr pinned one arm up, but he didn’t grab the second one before Sansa lashed out, attempting to hit him or push him back with her free hand.  </p><p>He caught it mid-air.</p><p>“Go ahead. Strike me again and I won’t just catch your wrist, I’ll return the affection.”</p><p>“Are you<em> testing</em> me?” Sansa spat. “I think you’ll find I don’t respond well to being threatened.”</p><p>“And I don’t respond well to being struck.”</p><p>Raising his eyebrows he reached down and <em>cupped her mound.</em></p><p>“Although I think you do. I think this entire night is you begging for it.”</p><p>The move required Petyr to let go of her other hand, a miscalculation. Sansa used the opportunity to knee him in the groin – or she would have if his own arm hadn’t been obstructing her blow - and push past him.</p><p>She made it as far as the bed before she felt his arms around her waist.</p><p>#</p><p>Was <em>she</em> testing <em>him?</em></p><p>Is that what this was about?</p><p>The balance of power kept shifting, kept tilting on its axis. Mutable, slippery, as far back as the cage. Just because one of them was caught, didn’t mean they weren’t in <em>control.</em></p><p>Who the fuck had the power?</p><p>He, wrangling Sansa over his lap, helpless to whatever he desired?</p><p>Or her, not only captivating and commanding his attention… but subtly setting a course by what she did or did not do?</p><p>When he flipped her face-down across his lap he lost the ability to reason.</p><p>Her skirt had ridden up and he could see she’d been telling the truth.</p><p>She wasn’t wearing any fucking panties.</p><p>Jesus, he never wanted to spank her more.</p><p>All he could think about were the two leering men, who might have caught a glimpse of god-knows-what, or who would have found unobstructed access if they’d tried anything.</p><p>Seeing the curve of her pale bottom like that, vulnerable to him, waiting his attentions, sent a jolt of pleasure to his brain.</p><p>When he struck the first blow across Sansa’s bare ass, she squirmed enough to free herself, falling onto the floor.</p><p>
  <em>Well if she wasn’t going to stay still… </em>
</p><p>Petyr pinned her face down on the floor and untied his tie. He grabbed her flailing arms and secured them behind her back with a knot she couldn’t break.</p><p>The usual protests fell from her lips. <em>Get off me. Untie me.</em> He ignored them, smiling only when the more colorful threats spilled. <em>I know where you keep your favorite dagger Petyr. I’m going to cut off your balls with it.</em></p><p>Petyr reached under her hair, finding the pins and pulling the wig from her head. He wanted the red. He removed the next set of pins holding her bun and watched her beautiful auburn locks tumble free.</p><p>Then he dragged Sansa back over his lap, lifted her skirt, and began spanking her again without preamble.</p><p>He hit hard. And he fucking loved it.</p><p>He spanked plenty of girls before. Some even in his playroom. But that’s all it was. Play.</p><p>Sansa got into a place in his mind that went beyond play and into something darker, deeper. He wanted to discipline her. To watch her change under his hands from someone who wanted to push him to someone who wanted to please him.</p><p>He was angry. He was horny. He needed a new word to describe the combined feeling Sansa evoked.  </p><p>He watched her ass turn bright red, listened to her cries, met with smug satisfaction the wetness spreading over her legs and seeping onto his pants.</p><p>He’d do the pushing from now on. She’d do the pleasing. And it would please them both.</p><p>Petyr had been so captivated he hadn’t even lectured her as he spanked. <em>Next time.</em></p><p>Sansa didn’t move when the punishment ceased. She was breathing loudly, sobbing and moaning softly, but not quite crying.</p><p>Using one finger, Petyr gathered the wetness pooling in between her legs. Sansa rewarded him by stiffening, breath catching. She didn’t fight him.</p><p>Maybe she should have. Maybe she thought she was going to be rewarded.</p><p>He didn’t move sharply enough to cause harm, but he moved without warning when he took his finger and drove it inside her other opening instead.</p><p>Sansa lurched forward, crying out, but she couldn’t escape Petyr’s grip on her waist.</p><p>“S – stop,” she moaned.</p><p>Petyr moved his finger out only slightly then pushed it deeply back inside. Sansa groaned.</p><p>“Are you ever going to pull a stunt like that again?” Petyr asked, finding his lecture voice.</p><p>“I… uh… no…” Sansa moaned.</p><p>
  <em>Not contrite enough yet. </em>
</p><p>Petyr tortured her a bit longer, her pain-pleasure moans driving him wild. He wondered if he'd met someone so on the cusp before, continually dancing on the edge of the blade, unable to decide whether she despised or desired it. Her indecision enthralled him.   </p><p>Before he finally stopped, he turned his finger around and made sure to milk every ounce of embarrassment by wiggling it. Then he seized her waist and helped her stand.</p><p>Sansa blinked, scared and confused.</p><p>Petyr walked over to his closet, retrieved the riding crop, and returned to face her.</p><p>“Bend over the bed, sweetling,” he commanded, low and firm. “Spread your legs and show me your cunt. Or get on your knees and apologize for what you did tonight.”</p><p>Sansa didn’t move. He could almost <em>see </em>her debating as choices flashed across her face.</p><p>“Bend over the bed and spread your legs wide,” he repeated, and even he could hear how raw and husky his voice sounded. “Or apologize. I’ll make it easy. You don’t even have to gravel. Just tell me you’re sorry.”</p><p>“I’m not though,” Sansa whispered. Then, firmer, “I don’t regret what I did tonight. You deserved it, Petyr. In fact, I can’t deny that I won’t look back on it and laugh. Your face when you walked in the door…”</p><p>Sansa laughed, albeit nervously.</p><p>Petyr cocked an eyebrow.</p><p>Later, he would rationalize.</p><p>
  <em>Sansa was pushing him as he pushed her. She wanted him as badly as he wanted her.</em>
</p><p>She simply couldn’t verbalize it. Not after all he’d done to her in the other world. Not during what he was doing to her at that moment.</p><p>Later, that’s what he would tell himself.</p><p>But at that moment, he acted purely on instinct.</p><p>He bent Sansa over the bed and lifted her skirt again. He whipped her three times with the crop, taking his time, pausing between strokes. Her head jerked back with each blow and she hissed, crying out only on the last, the hardest.</p><p>Then he pushed two fingers inside her dripping cunt.</p><p>Her moan was a deep cry of relief. As if she’d bottled up too much, too long, and as he worked his fingers in and out of her, she released it all in that sound of yearning.</p><p>Before she reached a climax, he removed his hand.</p><p>Sansa didn’t move when she heard him unbuckle his belt.</p><p>It was consent enough.</p><p>He wasn’t sure he could stop himself either way.  </p><p>Petyr freed his erection and drove his cock into her, to the hilt.</p><p>#</p><p>His body covered hers, held hers. Slick and warm, panting in unison.</p><p>He’d held off until she came, shouting and shaking beneath him.</p><p>He didn’t want a fucking medal for it, but… something more than <em>this.</em></p><p>Sansa, trying to wriggle free with impatience.</p><p>He wanted to take a moment. She wanted out.</p><p><em>This is new, </em>he thought, but couldn’t claim to be totally surprised.</p><p>“Untie me,” Sansa demanded.</p><p>Petyr lifted his torso and worked at the knots in silence.</p><p><em>What just happened?</em> He gave her what she wanted. It was what he wanted too. He’d fucking led them to the best sex he’d ever had, and, judging from the way she came, it couldn’t have been far behind for her either.</p><p>So why did he feel the power slipping away? Again?</p><p>Petyr started to worry that he’d hit her too hard or invoked some memory he couldn’t know – something the other Petyr had done, or worse, Ramsey.</p><p>Once he’d freed her hands, Sansa smoothed down her skirt.</p><p>When she turned to face him, Petyr was only half-relieved to see she wasn’t angry or upset just… cold.</p><p>Was she ashamed and hiding it?</p><p>After a long silence, she said, “I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Thanks for the sex.”</p><p>
  <em>Well then. So much for aftercare. </em>
</p><p>Petyr had half a mind to grab her and spank her again. Until she told him what the fuck was going through her pretty little head.</p><p>It struck him, on her way out the door.</p><p>“That wasn’t sex,” he said.</p><p>Sansa stopped, but she didn’t turn around. “Oh? What was it?”</p><p>“An exorcism.”</p><p>He watched the backs of her shoulders rise and fall with deep breaths. He eyed her long legs, her cute ass - now covered by the skirt - her gorgeous red hair. God, he wanted her again already. If she stayed, he would fuck her again right now. Slowly, this time.</p><p>“You want to know the truth, Petyr?”</p><p>He clenched his jaw. He could already tell it wasn’t going to be good.</p><p>“I think I wanted to hurt you, even if I had to go down with you.” Sansa didn't turn around as she spoke. “So I set myself on fire.”</p><p>She paused, and there was a cruel edge to her voice when she said, “I knew you’d reach out and grab me. And then I'd get to watch you burn.”  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is more of a quiet (but dramatic) chapter after the crazy angst of the last one. </p><p>I'm not sure if this will need a re-write because it's been a crazy month for me and I'm not 100% satisfied. I have to see... let me know your thoughts.</p><p>Actually, it's kind of melodramatic!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>He’s toying with me,</em> Sansa thought, when she failed to hear the ominous <em>click </em>of the lock on her bedroom door, imprisoning her that night.</p><p>
  <em>He wants to see if I try to escape. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>No. He wants to assert his power by showing he doesn’t have to lock it at all. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>No! He’s trying to buy my trust. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Or… he’s trying to show he no longer cares if I leave? </em>
</p><p><em>What in </em>seven hells<em> was Petyr doing?  </em></p><p>The alcohol and exhaustion messed with her mind.</p><p>Or the addled state of being so thoroughly <em>fucked</em> prevented logical thinking.</p><p><em>It wasn’t like I’d imagined,</em> Sansa thought, chewing her lip. She peeled the schoolgirl socks from her feet and flopped back on the pillow.</p><p>It was supposed to be a game. She’d remain detached. Get hers and leave Petyr wanting. The entire idea was to set <em>him </em>aflame, not burn brighter herself.</p><p>Maybe… maybe it was to exorcise him from her being.</p><p>But it fucking backfired.</p><p>It didn’t feel like it did in her world, with the other Petyr.</p><p>When<em> this</em> Petyr’s fingers heated her skin… when he thrust into her… when she came. <em>Oh god,</em> when she came as he just. Fucking. <em>Ploughed </em>her. Like he wanted to bury himself so deeply inside her that she’d never extricate him, they’d never come apart.</p><p>He tried to kiss her once, and she turned her head. As long as they didn’t kiss, it was just fucking. Like the movie Pretty Woman. <em>No kissing on the mouth. </em></p><p>But all of it still shook her core in a way Sansa hadn’t felt before.</p><p><em>The best defense is a good offense, </em>Robb always said.</p><p>So she convinced herself that she’d only tempted Petyr to hurt him. She refused to believe any part of her wanted it too. But now Sansa’s façade, hastily built, couldn’t hold up to the creeping inspection her unoccupied mind demanded before sleep.</p><p>
  <em>He felt something real for the other Sansa and you know it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But he considered handing her back to the Lannisters, and you know this too. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But he changed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But so did you. </em>
</p><p>The last thought stubbornly echoed in her mind as she drifted off-</p><p>
  <em>Did you change for the worse? Am I the bad guy now? </em>
</p><p>#</p><p><em>I’m not the bad guy,</em> Sansa re-affirmed, leaving her room the next morning. As far as she knew, the door remained unlocked throughout the night. Petyr had not come announcing breakfast either, as he always did.</p><p>Sansa heard him on his cell, holed up in his office, and she used the opportunity to sneak through his bedroom and out onto the terrace. She planned to spend the better part of the day reading. Maybe even into the night. However long it took to stay away from Petyr.</p><p><em>I’m not the bad guy,</em> she repeated. <em>That’s just the way Petyr would want you to feel. Gaslighting you, manipulating your emotions. He deserved everything you did last night. You haven’t wounded him, he has no emotions. Only those he feigns to get his way. </em></p><p>Sansa clutched the book to her chest as she walked toward the roofdeck gardens. She didn’t even know the novel’s name, only that it was a perfectly romance-free tome dealing with space travel or alien armies or something like that. Militant. Devoid of love. Dry as the outer planets they’d surely colonize at the start.  </p><p>Sansa planned to spend all day glued to that book, and if she reached the inevitable conclusion of some epic space battle for dwindling resources, she’d turn back to the beginning and start again.</p><p>It was a fine plan, except…</p><p>She should have been paying attention to what was happening inside Petyr’s condo. She should have at least gone inside once.</p><p>#</p><p>When he came onto the terrace, it was nearly four o’clock, judging by the sun. Petyr carried a brown bag filled with take-out food and a glass of water.</p><p>Nothing more.</p><p>It was so simple. So stupid. He just… walked outside.</p><p>Sansa’s heart skipped a beat as it jump-started and raced into overdrive.  </p><p>It was the way his trousers hugged his lean figure. The way he’d rolled up his shirtsleeves and looked so effortlessly cool. The suave, confident way he walked.</p><p>It was looking at that stupid glass of water and seeing Petyr paid enough attention to know she was likely dehydrated, to care enough to bring something nourishing despite the tension between them -- made a lump form in Sansa’s throat.</p><p>
  <em>I’m not the bad guy. </em>
</p><p>She tried to harden a mask over her face, focusing only on the drink he carried. She had been sitting on the grass, book in hand, leaning one side against the bench in Petyr’s park-like garden. He sat down on the bench itself and Sansa couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. She didn’t have to look him in the eye, but he was above her.</p><p>She’d never been more confused about anything, everything, in her entire life. It made her feel adrift at sea in the middle of a storm, flailing to keep her head above water, to stay alive.</p><p><em>You can’t trust him,</em> she reminded, struggling to keep her face even as her breathing grew erratic and her lip quivered.</p><p>
  <em>Don’t fucking cry because he brought you a glass of water. That’s ridiculous. You made it through weeks in this cage, through all the closeness and even the sex and a glass of fucking water will not be your undoing. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You can’t trust him, you can’t trust him, you can’t trust him. </em>
</p><p>Petyr put down the food.</p><p>
  <em>You can’t trust him. </em>
</p><p>Something between a whimper and a groan escaped her when he spoke.</p><p>“I’m not him.”</p><p>Like he read her mind. Like he looked at her face and saw through to her soul and every fiber in her being was bared.</p><p>How did he <em>know?</em></p><p>Know just what would tear at her inside?</p><p>“I’m not him, Sansa,” he repeated, and his voice was somehow sad and cold at the same time. “Shagging me won’t close up any unfinished business you have with him.”</p><p>“And her?” Sansa hurled, deflecting. “Tell me shagging me wasn’t an attempt to reach – to retrieve – something you had with her?”</p><p>“No.” Petyr’s voice was low and firm.</p><p><em>Was he saying it was</em> her<em> he wanted?</em> Sansa couldn’t believe it, she wouldn’t believe it. Petyr was the king of lies.</p><p>Suddenly, her hands struck Petyr’s legs, seemingly without her mind giving the command. But warring was better than weeping.</p><p>Smacking him, she yelled, “It’s not fair! I – I want revenge. Don’t you understand that? You of <em>all </em>people should understand that. He – you – he’s probably dead in my world. Did you ever think of that? Don’t you see?”</p><p>Petyr grabbed her wrists and held them but Sansa still fought to hit.</p><p>“It makes sense! It’s symmetrical,” she cried. “If Sansa is dead in this world and I’ve been brought over here, he’s probably dead in my world. There were rumors of it already. And, and, I don’t <em>want </em>him dead. Because I’ve got things to say. Because… because I want to hurt him. I want revenge. And now I’ll never get the chance.”</p><p>Sansa clenched her hands into white-knuckled fists and tried pounding Petyr’s thighs, but he held her tightly so it was more like she <em>pushed </em>against his flesh.</p><p>“Except with <em>you.</em> I’m here and you’re here and maybe that’s why. So I can say these things to you. Seek my revenge on you. If not… then I’ll never get it and I need it, Petyr, I need it, and… and… <em>why am I here?”</em></p><p>She never asked the question aloud before. Not like that.</p><p>She dug her fingers, her nails, into Petyr’s legs. It should have hurt, but he didn’t react. <em>He should have given her that,</em> Sansa thought. The reaction she wanted. It wasn’t enough for him to just take it. She wanted it to hurt.</p><p>“I want you to hurt like you hurt me,” she said. “Don’t you dare make me feel bad for it, Petyr. You’re <em>exactly</em> the same. I want my revenge. What is the <em>point</em> of all this?”</p><p>“Maybe it’s not about revenge,” Petyr rasped all-too-calmly.</p><p>Sansa scoffed, loud. “You of all people should know it is. You said it was the purest of motivations. What do you think this is all for? Why am I here? And don’t say something fucking absurd and trite, Petyr, like learning to trust again. I’ve never known you to be sentimental.”</p><p>“I didn’t say that. But I’d say I started reevaluating <em>some </em>factors about the way the world works when a dead girl appeared in my foyer.”</p><p>He was doing it again. Making her feel like the bad guy. She wasn’t the bad guy. That was just manipulation and trickery and all his fucking lies…</p><p>“I hate you!” Sansa growled, teeth bared to counter the leaking tears. “I hate you so much, Petyr. You’ll never know. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”</p><p>The fight had left her body and her head rested in Petyr’s lap as he stroked her hair, making every declaration sound more like <em>I love you, I love you, I love you. </em></p><p>After a few moments of struggling not to sob into his trousers, she felt Petyr tug on her forearms, guiding her to sit in his lap. She didn’t protest until Petyr cupped her face with his hands on both cheeks, drawing her mouth to his.</p><p>“N – no,” Sansa said, turning her head away.  </p><p>Pushing herself off of him, she stood, smoothing her dress. “I’m a mess. I have to… clean myself up.”</p><p>She ran off the terrace and back into the condo.</p><p>#</p><p>Petyr thought she’d <em>finally </em>broken down, torn it down to ground level. Nothing could be reconstructed, they couldn’t rebuild her, until they demolished all the unnecessary walls.</p><p>But it came in fits and starts. A step forward, then back again.</p><p>Like a skittish animal that fed from his hand, only to scurry away, once fed. If he grabbed her too soon, she’d panic and squirm. If he pushed too hard, stepped too close, he’d set off one of the landmines all around her. Some Ramsay laid, some he laid, in another life.</p><p>Petyr had to wait. To coax her, slowly.</p><p>He hoped what he had to do that morning wouldn’t be another setback. It was for her own good.</p><p>#</p><p>“Will you rub this on me?” Sansa asked, standing in the doorway to Petyr’s room late that night, holding her scar cream in one hand.</p><p>It was a shite apology, as far as apologies went, or some attempt at bridging the gap between them. But Petyr was… <em>steadfast</em>… Sansa thought, not sure if she’d settled on the right word. Whether she lashed out at him or wordlessly sought closeness, he didn’t falter in his patience, his… affection.</p><p>Her behavior was erratic, she knew it. Her mother would have been appalled at what she’d become. But how was she supposed to behave, given what she’d been through? There was no rulebook on anything like this. So what if she turned in circles, dizzying herself? She survived everything Petyr and Ramsay had done to her <em>and </em>endured a fucking a multidimensional transfer, and she hadn’t yet jumped off the terrace or stuck a knife in Petyr’s heart. As far as she was concerned, that was better than what most people would do.</p><p>She was just… so <em>goddamn</em> alone and wanted so badly to relieve some of that burden with him, but… what if… that was exactly how he’d lure her, betray her again?</p><p>Petyr stared at her with his mask firmly in place. For a moment, lingering in his doorway, she wondered if he would deny her. Then Petyr nodded and she sat down on the bed beside him, lowering her robe to her hips.</p><p>When his expert hands ran down her back, Sansa couldn’t deny that she wanted to feel him inside her. To be… close to him.</p><p>She closed her eyes, feeling her heart start to pound. If she were honest with herself, she knew what she wanted when she picked up the cream from her nightstand.</p><p>No words were needed. Petyr always knew what she wanted. Like her body gave off a secret aura only he could read.  </p><p>His hands dipped lower down her back and she sighed into them. His fingers reached around, exploring, and she turned to offer him a better angle. He cupped her breasts and even through her bra she felt that sense of <em>rightness </em>when he held them in his hands.</p><p>When Petyr didn’t, Sansa removed her bra herself.</p><p>His eyes darkened, staring at her breasts. But Petyr hesitated, running his thumb over his forefinger, torn for the moment.</p><p>That should have been Sansa’s first warning that something was off, but she missed it.</p><p>Feeling more than a little rebuked, feeling guilty for everything she’d done, Sansa reached for Petyr’s belt buckle. She inwardly smiled when he relented, laying back and allowing her to slide his pants down, then his briefs.</p><p>He had a fucking glorious cock. It wasn’t the primary reason for his swagger, but Sansa knew it didn’t hurt. It wasn’t that Petyr was endowed that much more generously than other men, but his cock was just so… perfect. Thick and long and <em>pretty,</em> Sansa thought, blushing.</p><p>She kissed the tip, smiling as he twitched for her.</p><p>After a few licks to wet him, she slid her mouth down his entire length, feeling a mind-boggling competitiveness, a jealousy against <em>herself.</em></p><p>
  <em>Did the other Sansa do this to him? </em>
</p><p>She sucked voraciously, encouraged by Petyr’s half-stifled moans, his low curses… his breathless cry of her name when he came in her mouth.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck, Sansa, fuck-</em>
</p><p>When she swallowed all of him, the devil possessed her again, and Sansa held Petyr’s eyes as she wantonly licked her lips.</p><p>
  <em>He loved it. </em>
</p><p>His eyes told her so.</p><p>Petyr recovered with remarkable speed for a man his age, flipping Sansa onto her back. He yanked her panties down and off her feet. His hands wasted no time pushing Sansa’s legs bent and wide open, but he paused, drinking in the sight of her bare cunt.</p><p>He’d see the arousal. Sucking him had turned her on too.</p><p>Petyr held her spread and wanting so long, Sansa began to cant her hips, hoping for pressure.</p><p>“What are you doing?” she moaned.</p><p>“What do you want, sweetling?” he asked.</p><p>“Your… your mouth.”</p><p>“Aren’t you a filthy little girl? My little insatiable slut. Look at how you’re dripping like a dirty whore.”</p><p>Petyr’s dirty talk was cruder than usual.</p><p>That should have been Sansa’s second warning that something was amiss.</p><p>But, too aroused to take note, she only pled, “Yes, I’m insatiable, please, put your mouth on me, your dirty little girl.”</p><p>“Put my mouth on you…?” he teased.</p><p>“Lick my cunt, please,” she cried, arching, playing along. “Lick your dirty little girl’s cunt.”</p><p>Petyr complied, licking all of her as hungrily as she’d feasted on him, driving her to louder and louder wails as she bucked into his mouth and babbled.</p><p>
  <em>“Oh god, oh god, Petyr, yes, more, don’t stop…” </em>
</p><p>She might have called herself his bad little girl again. She might have called him daddy. She had no fucking idea what nonsense spilled from her lips as he brought her to an orgasm as phenomenal as the night before.</p><p>Her toes curled and she fisted the sheets as she came, sweating and swearing.</p><p>At the end, almost cruelly, Petyr used one finger to stroke her overly-sensitive clit while the pleasure receded, causing Sansa to twitch from too much stimulation.</p><p>“N – no more, please,” she whimpered.</p><p>Limp, weary, she sank into the bed. Through the haze in her mind, she sensed Petyr looking down at her, <em>felt</em> him thinking. But she couldn’t do more than catch her breath.</p><p>“I- I need a drink of water,” she finally said, pulling herself out from under him.</p><p>Halfway to the bathroom, Petyr stopped her.</p><p>“Sansa.”</p><p>The way he said her name set the hair on her neck on end.</p><p>She turned. Petyr had propped himself halfway up against the headboard.</p><p>“This is my house and there are rules. What you did last night wasn’t acceptable.”</p><p>In an instant, Sansa braced herself. For some verdict he’d try to render, some retaliatory punishment he would threaten.</p><p>She was thinking of the future. Not what had already been done.</p><p>“I won’t have you stealing phones or credit cards or picking locks, and I certainly won’t have strangers in here. I wanted to tell you earlier but… out on the terrace wasn’t the right time.”</p><p>Sansa held herself stiff as she waited.</p><p>“You endangered yourself and my work. It won’t happen again. Privacy is a privilege, not a right. As such, it can be revoked at any time.”</p><p>She cocked her head. <em>And… What was he getting at?</em></p><p>“I have ensured you won’t be pulling stunts like that in the future by installing cameras throughout the condo. There are several in each room, including the playroom and your bedroom. The only place your privacy will be respected is in the toilet. And while I’m sure you’d be able to locate <em>some</em> of the hidden cameras, I’d advise you not go looking. If I find you tampering with any of them, you’ll find yourself spending the rest of your time here back in the cage. Do you understand me?”</p><p>As Petyr spoke, Sansa’s hands crossed her body, covering her breasts. At the same time, she pushed her legs tightly together. Her blood thrummed in her veins, as it always did when she angered.</p><p>“Here?” she whispered. “Are there cameras in your bedroom too, Petyr?”</p><p>
  <em>Don’t think about it, don’t think about it. </em>
</p><p>He paused.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“How many?”</p><p>“Enough to capture everything we did from every angle.”</p><p>She thought about it.</p><p>Pictured everything they’d just done.</p><p><em>Oh god. Had she role-played? Said…</em> Sansa didn’t want to think about that. But oh god, she had spread her legs and moaned and begged and it was all on camera?</p><p>“Don’t you dare act like you had to do it,” she said, pointing her finger at Petyr. “You <em>purposely</em> egged me on to make what we just did as dirty as possible with that… talk.”</p><p>The son-of-a-bitch scrunched his lips.</p><p>Sansa took a deep breath, mind racing. She wasn’t sure if the threat was that Petyr could watch it, watch all of her at any time forever now… or if it was that he possessed damaging footage that could be released as some kind of leverage… or something else entirely.</p><p>But she knew it was about Petyr re-asserting power and control.</p><p>“All the rooms…” Sansa seethed. “And my bedroom? And my… bathroom?”</p><p><em>The shower,</em> she thought.</p><p>“Everywhere.”</p><p>“So what, my choices are to let you watch every move I make or go back in the cage? You deceived me, I can’t trust you, I knew it.”</p><p>Sansa pursed her lips, hoping Petyr wouldn’t point out that she broke trust first. Again. Just as she had when she hid the diary.  </p><p>He rose from the bed and Sansa knew something bad was coming. He nearly prowled.</p><p><em>He wouldn’t do anything dangerous,</em> she told herself. <em>It would be on camera. Although, I suppose, he could erase that part. I suppose its what he means to do with any unflattering footage.</em></p><p>“Tell me sweetling, does it frustrate you that a part of you enjoys the idea?”</p><p>
  <em>He went straight for the jugular. </em>
</p><p>“That’s sick. You’re sick.”</p><p>“I can see it in your bright blue eyes. I can <em>smell</em> it on you. You like playing games, you like being watched. Like when you caught me watching you on the terrace. And why shouldn’t I? Why shouldn’t I enjoy looking at you?”</p><p>
  <em>Because… because… </em>
</p><p>Sansa’s heart thumped. Petyr’s nearness did that. He could have touched her, could have grabbed her face, but he didn’t need to. He just <em>stood.</em> In her personal space.</p><p>She was pissed for her own part in losing her privacy and she was <em>outraged</em> at Petyr for taking it from her.</p><p>But something did intrigue her or flatter her or make her feel… safe? She couldn’t name the emotion, but she couldn’t deny it.</p><p>The other Petyr used her, betrayed her, cast her off. This Petyr drew her nearer, so close as to keep her under lock and key and watch her every move.</p><p>Sansa blinked, confused as ever.</p><p>Oh god, she <em>really </em>didn’t want to want it.</p><p>Hating something entirely was so much easier than having a kernel of fascination burrowed deep inside, preventing embracing the simplicity of <em>one</em> emotion. The dominant emotion.</p><p>Of all the elegant, profound, and complex thoughts running through Sansa’s head, all she could muster before she stalked off was what she’d said several times before.</p><p>“You’re an ass, Petyr.”</p><p>#</p><p>Slowly, Sansa turned around her bedroom, scanning the ceiling, the window, the floor. She’d been sitting in her room for an hour, debating what to do. She didn’t spy any red lights, but that didn’t mean anything. Every smoke detector, each piece of furniture, all the various objects in her room were suspect. There was nothing she could do but accept it.</p><p>
  <em>Except. </em>
</p><p>Except turn the tables.</p><p>Sansa swallowed.</p><p>What was another game when they played so many already?</p><p>Petyr wanted to watch. She’d give him a show.</p><p>Bowing her head seductively, Sansa shimmied out of her robe with exaggerated arching. Naked, she scooted back on the bed and spread her legs wide, shamelessly. She trailed her fingers down between her breasts and over her stomach, stopping when she reached her cunt. She hoped Petyr had a good view.</p><p>With another arch of her back, Sansa dipped her fingers inside. She moaned as she played with herself, reaching her free hand up to squeeze her breast.</p><p>She didn’t mean to enjoy it.</p><p>But knowing – and she fucking <em>knew </em>– Petyr watched her from his office, thrilled her.</p><p>She pictured him, god… he was probably biting his thumb, eyes glued to the screen. She imagined him wearing one of his tailored suits, despite the late hour and knowing he likely already put on something casual for bed. As she touched herself she imagined, by now, he rubbed his erection through his fancy trousers… maybe he couldn’t resist any longer and already shoved them to his feet. Maybe he stood, fisting his cock, pumping as he watched her through the screen.</p><p>Sansa needed to stop or she’d come.</p><p>“I’m so dirty,” she complained, loudly.  </p><p>She jumped out of the bed and crossed into the bathroom, swaying her hips. When she started the shower, hot water came faster than expected for pipes so high up in the condo. Then again, Petyr had a way of making these little conveniences happen.  </p><p><em>Little conveniences or larger ones,</em> she thought. <em>Within hours, he managed to get a tech crew or some kind of bloody experts in here to rig the entire place with surveillance while I read. </em></p><p>Sansa didn’t count, but if she had to guess it was something like thirty seconds after soaping her body that she heard the bathroom door open behind her.</p><p>She’d grinned, having caught her prey.</p><p>Or had he caught her?</p><p>Who was the cat and who was the mouse?</p><p>Why was it so hard to distinguish between them?</p><p>She didn’t turn when she heard him step into the shower. She didn’t speak when he grabbed her waist and pulled her flush against his body.</p><p>Petyr kissed her neck from behind, running his hands freely over all of her. Then he pressed his hands between her shoulder blades, guiding her down so that she bent her torso forward, resting her hands against the wall.</p><p>He pushed into her without ensuring her own wetness would balance out the shower water seeping between her legs, and the first few strokes hurt. Deliciously.</p><p>#</p><p><em>When I was a little girl I was afraid of the monsters under my bed,</em> Sansa thought. <em>Now I’ve got one </em>in <em>my bed. </em></p><p>Petyr held her in his arms as they dried together, wetting the sheets.</p><p>
  <em>And I invited the monster in.  </em>
</p><p>They’d either sleep on cold sheets or have to move to his bed and Sansa had no preference, contented by Petyr’s body heat. He rested beneath her, assuming most of the problem. She lay on top, assuming most of the exposure for the cameras.</p><p>“I don’t want you to think bad behavior is rewarded,” Petyr said. “But. Since you’ve gone and introduced to the world a rumor that my illegitimate daughter has come for a visit, we need to maintain the pretense.”</p><p>Sansa perked up at the hope he implied.  </p><p>“We’ll dress you in the wig and make <em>one</em> semi-public appearance. Tomorrow. Early in the morning. Somewhere quick and sure to spread gossip.”</p><p>Sansa was so excited to step out into the world again, she could scarcely breathe.</p><p>#</p><p>“Your name is Alayne Stone. Say it.”</p><p>“My name is Alayne Stone.”</p><p>It might as well have been. Sansa didn’t feel at all herself. Petyr insisted she wear shapeless, baggy clothes to hide her figure. Beneath the mussed wig, what little of her face showed they’d contoured to alter her features. As well as could be expected. The real change came from the heaps of dark eyeliner she used at Petyr’s behest and the fake nose piercing – a little diamond stud that would have looked cute, but for the rest of her practically shouting <em>goth-girl-going-through-a-rebellious-phase. </em></p><p>Nothing could be done about her height. Sansa slouched instead, taking on more of a surly teenager appearance.</p><p>It was distant look from her usual attire, but, more importantly, far, far away from the pretty presentation of the other Sansa.</p><p>“Am I a disgrace to the Baelish name?” Sansa asked, frowning at herself in the mirror.</p><p>“You don’t have the Baelish name.”</p><p>The sudden memory that Sansa once wanted to marry Petyr twisted in her gut. She pushed it out by shooting Petyr a look.</p><p>“You wouldn’t legitimize me, father? What if I promise to be a very good girl?” She put her arms around him and traced her fingers down the back of his neck. “What if I promise to let you take me out of these terrible clothes and dress me however you like? Would you like that, father?”</p><p>Petyr grabbed her hand and smacked it.</p><p>“Ow.”</p><p>“Pay attention, please.”</p><p>He leaned into her ear and whispered, “Or would you like a spanking on camera?”</p><p>“N – no,” Sansa replied, blushing. But she squeezed her legs together, excited.</p><p>“You’ve been studying abroad and your last semester stressed you to the point of quitting your program. In a fit of temper and needing a change, you pressed your mother to find out who your real father was. I never knew of your existence until you showed up at my door.”</p><p>“Now come,” he said, taking her hand. “We’re going to walk three blocks to the coffee shop. You will not be speaking to anyone unless they speak to you first. We’ll order two lattes, then return home. Someone will approach us to ask for an introduction. I will tell them you are my daughter loudly enough for others to hear.”</p><p>“You’ve planted someone at the shop?”</p><p>Petyr raised his eyebrows in reply.</p><p>“Why don’t we just go to the coffee shop here?”</p><p>“This one is busier. Plus the ones down the street have better croissants,” he shrugged.</p><p>Turning serious, he added softly, “She – you – died in an alleyway nearby. I don’t know what she was doing there when she said she was only popping downstairs but, we had gone to Baratheon Brews a few times when we went out. I wouldn’t want to risk any of the employees recognizing you. There’s another place we didn’t frequent. A pub with a small coffee shop they’ve opened next door, The Lion’s Den. You can see why she didn’t like it.”</p><p>Sansa’s lips thinned in agreement. They had a string of Baratheon Brews in her world, but no Lannister pubs-turned-coffee shops yet.</p><p>“No one will have seen you there and there’s bound to be talkers standing idly by, ready to report on the <em>Baelish Bastard</em>, as I’m sure the gossip columns will print, thank-you-very-much.”</p><p>“You’re welcome, father.”</p><p>“Don’t get cheeky.”</p><p>“If there are Lannister businesses nearby, don’t you think they might have had something to do with her murder?” Sansa asked.</p><p>“No. Not that I can see and I’ve done the digging. We wait for Theon to return. It won’t be long now.”</p><p>Sansa nodded, saying nothing. She dreaded possibly confirming that her own bad choices had somehow led Theon into hurting her when he tried only to help her.</p><p>“I want to see it, Petyr. The place where I… she… died.”</p><p>He nodded and, for the first time ever, Sansa strode beside Petyr, out of his condo.</p><p>He set a good pace as they walked three blocks east, toward Blackwater Bay and the scene where it all happened.</p><p>Sansa wanted to hold his hand, but it would have looked strange for a grown daughter.</p><p>Her heart raced, everything assailing her senses as <em>new.</em> This was a new <em>world.</em> Somewhere in it, somewhere just beyond these streets, she had <em>family</em> waiting. Jon and Robb and Bran and Arya and Rickon.</p><p>She was one step closer to seeing them. Only a few days maybe.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning: We dive right into trauma here. I don't know how Sansa couldn't be dealing with PTSD, but she's also in denial about dealing with it.</p>
<p>There's lot of drama, swoony romance, and some literal bodice-ripping ahead. </p>
<p>Also, when I named all the inspiration for the wacky multi-dimensions, etc., I totally forgot to mention two of the biggest influences on this fic. The first is the movie Sliding Doors, and I swear GRRM referenced it once in speaking about ASOIAF, but I can't find the quote anywhere. That movie inspired the split timelines/universes and its why I set the scene in the subway. Also, the kisses are inspired by Once Upon a Time! Not as magical, but still soul-shaking, powerful.</p>
<p>This chapter is long, but there's another chapter coming very soon and it's a lot shorter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sex was wrong from the start. There was a denial in Sansa’s desire. A refusal to deal with confronting the scene of the other Sansa’s murder. An inability to handle a glimpse of the world beyond, only to have it ripped away again. A mounting fear of everything beginning to culminate in some unknown end.</p>
<p>There was truth in her arousal, too. The taboo pleasure simmering beneath the surface of pretending to be Petyr’s daughter. The high of stepping into this new world, the smells of the coffee shop, the bustle of people. The enjoyment in teaming up with Petyr for their little ploy.</p>
<p>Back at his condo, he followed her up to his bedroom, riveted, as if she’d tugged an invisible leash. Sansa tossed off the black, baggy clothing, one article at a time, creating an impromptu striptease as they ascended.</p>
<p>Naked, she stood beside Petyr’s bed, biting her lip and smiling shyly.</p>
<p>“I seem to have lost my clothes, father,” she teased. It wasn’t necessary; he was already charging forth, wild-eyed with wanting.</p>
<p>The morning’s events had whipped him into a frenzy as well.</p>
<p>Roughly, Petyr pushed Sansa’s torso down on the bed. Hasty, hungry, grinding against her backside. She pressed back, arching, aching, needing fulfillment <em>now.</em> The rumble sounding from the back of Petyr’s throat was part moan, part growl. He fumbled, one-handed, with the buckle of his belt, unwilling to remove both hands from Sansa at the same time.</p>
<p>His belt came undone and <em>right now,</em> he needed to be buried inside her.</p>
<p>His zipper fell and <em>now </em>he needed to feel her around him.</p>
<p>His hand clamped over the back of her neck, pinning her and –</p>
<p>-- Sansa screamed.</p>
<p>In his lust-addled state, Petyr froze, not advancing but not moving away either. Sansa screamed again, scrambling up onto the bed, out of reach.</p>
<p>“Don’t touch me!” she shouted, still scurrying away from Petyr, half-crawling, half-rolling until she reached the corner of the room, where she sank to the floor and huddled, wrapping her arms around her knees.</p>
<p>Petyr blinked, shaking the lust from the forefront of his brain.</p>
<p>He’d hit a landmine, he realized. <em>What was it? The hand? His hand on her neck? He’d squeezed her throat before and that didn’t bother her, but something about the back…</em></p>
<p>“No, no, no! I – I – don’t do that. Don’t.”</p>
<p>Petyr pulled up his pants. The last thing he wanted to do was approach her with his trousers down. When he reached the side of the bed where she huddled, he knelt, scooting rest of the way to her, slowly.</p>
<p>“Don’t do that. Don’t touch me. Not like that.”</p>
<p>Cautiously, he wrapped his arms around her.</p>
<p>Sansa let him. Stiffly, but she let him.</p>
<p>The hard casing she armored herself in was gone, at least, for the moment. Blown to bits in the landmine explosion. But the shrapnel ripped inside her too, lodged itself in her mind, her windpipe, forcing her to fight for air.</p>
<p>At first, she babbled little whispers.</p>
<p>
  <em>I can’t -</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He did that - </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>To me -</em>
</p>
<p>Then she shook her head and quietly cried. For a long time, Petyr rocked her in silence. He’d stay like that all day if she needed. But when her breathing steadied and her crying stilled, he picked her up and carried her to the bed.</p>
<p>“I – I’m sorry. I’m damaged,” Sansa whispered, not meeting his eyes. “Damaged goods.”</p>
<p>“Personally, I believe damaged people are the best people,” Petyr said softly. “We know our strengths and our weaknesses. We’ve been through the fire, forged by it, and come out tougher on the other side. No more illusions, no fragility. We know what we know. Who we are.” Petyr stroked her hair. “That’s what I’ve learned.”</p>
<p>He didn’t need to touch his own scar, bisecting his chest, to convey where he’d first begun learning.</p>
<p>Sansa studied his face, considering, then her eyes began to close from exhaustion. The morning’s events and… whatever just happened, overwhelming.</p>
<p>Eventually, Petyr drifted off beside her.</p>
<p>#</p>
<p>When Petyr awoke, Sansa was already awake, wide blue eyes staring at him.</p>
<p>The flint was back in them.</p>
<p>He stifled a frown. Most people weren’t able to awaken before him. The other Sansa had done it on the day she died. Petyr didn’t like that this Sansa had just done it as well, and what that might forbode.  </p>
<p>“Ramsay,” she spoke the one word low, detached. “He used to hold me down by the back of my neck when he… raped me. Cut me.”</p>
<p>“We don’t have to play games, Sansa,” Petyr whispered. “We don’t have to be rough. If the memory-”</p>
<p>“I won’t let him take that away from me,” she said, cutting him off. “If he does, then he truly wins. I won’t let him take from me any longer.”</p>
<p><em>Bold words,</em> Petyr thought. She wanted it to be true so badly she believed it. This Sansa wore a shell of armor, but it was only a shell.</p>
<p>“It’s different with you,” she said. “I didn’t <em>want </em>to be helpless under Ramsay.”</p>
<p>Petyr blinked, slowly. “What is it about Sansa? When you let me take my riding crop and mark you. When I hold you down. When we play these games. What is it you think it’s about?”</p>
<p>He knew what she’d say before she said it.</p>
<p>“It’s about power.”</p>
<p>“It’s about trust.”</p>
<p>Her eyes narrowed as she weighed his reply. Considering how little she may trust him, Petyr wasn’t sure if it was better to correct her.  </p>
<p>#</p>
<p>When Petyr found her, Sansa was staring off the terrace balcony, toward the setting sun. She spoke without turning.</p>
<p>“She said you were like the horizon. The other Sansa.”</p>
<p>“Yes, I read that.” Gently, he embraced her from behind.</p>
<p>“Well. There is something mercurial and airy about you,” she breathed a laugh. “Are you an air sign?”</p>
<p>“I am.” He nuzzled her neck.</p>
<p>“Do you know what I am? Did she tell you? Kissed by fire, perhaps?”</p>
<p>“No, you’re a water sign for sure.”</p>
<p>His lips grazed her collarbone.</p>
<p>“Because you need a taste each day to stay alive?” </p>
<p>“Because I need to contain you lest you rush away.”</p>
<p>Sansa giggled softly as Petyr held her tighter.</p>
<p>For a quiet few moments, they drank in the orange glow of the low sun, illuminating the beauty of King’s Landing spreading out before them to Blackwater Bay. It truly was a spectacular view. Sansa <em>could</em> be happy looking at it for the rest of her life. It’s just that it wasn’t <em>all </em>she ever wanted to look at.</p>
<p>“I think I know why she was in that alleyway when she died,” Sansa said.</p>
<p>Petyr said nothing, but she felt him stiffen. Sansa turned to face him.</p>
<p>“I’m not positive, Petyr, and I don’t… I don’t know if it will make you feel any better. You feel guilty for not protecting her and you feel guilty for suspecting her. Especially after reading the diary and learning she was capable of hiding secrets from you.”</p>
<p>Sansa waited for him to protest. She was pretty sure Petyr was <em>racked </em>with guilt, but she didn’t know if he wanted to admit it or liked being confronted with it. When he said nothing, she licked her lips and continued. “I don’t believe she was in that alleyway to betray you. I think she was there because you like the croissants.”</p>
<p>A crease formed on Petyr’s brow.</p>
<p>“This might be totally off-base, but… I think she went to the other coffee shop simply because you prefer the breakfast, and she wanted to please you, to surprise you. I don’t know for sure but… it’s what I would have done. In another life. If I were another… self… I could see myself doing that. The thought crosses my mind. We may never know, but, I think it was just a simple, albeit foolish, act of kindness.”  </p>
<p>Petyr stared for a long moment, then nodded. Sansa couldn’t tell if it meant because he agreed or simply that it meant he’d consider it. His dark eyes kept their secrets.</p>
<p>God, he really was too beautiful to look at, especially in this light. The taut, handsome lines of his face. Sansa could study the skin-over-bones as if he were a work of art. She wanted to draw him, paint him. She used to be pretty good at it, some even said quite talented. Perhaps she’d ask Petyr for supplies, and he’d let her capture his likeness in a portrait sometime.</p>
<p>She couldn’t deny that even just looking at him made her heart twist. She wanted to know him, inside and out. Sometimes he held himself so tightly closed she wanted to rip him open, to make him share. <em>Is this the way he felt with her, when she closed herself off?</em></p>
<p>“I want to tell you something, Petyr,” Sansa said, forcing herself to talk before she could take it back. “But will you promise not to laugh? Call me a silly girl?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” He brushed her cheek with the pad of his thumb.</p>
<p>“I think you carry terrible guilt, Petyr, more than just from Sansa’s death. When I read her diary, it was clear the other Sansa was falling in love with you, if not already in love. And you… didn’t feel quite the same. You desired her. But love?”</p>
<p>Sansa took a deep breath. “I can’t believe I’m saying this because he betrayed me far worse than you ever did her, but… the Petyr in my world… he loved me, in his own way. You didn’t love the other Sansa as she was. But she changed you. I would never love the other Petyr, as he was. But he changed me.”</p>
<p>Sansa locked eyes with him. “The me you want is the me he made. The you I want is the you she made.”  </p>
<p>His eyes danced their affirmation and <em>gods,</em> Sansa wanted to kiss him. But at that moment the scar on her back itched, as scars often do when healing, and Sansa just continued to smile shyly instead. She turned back around, relaxing back into Petyr’s arms, watching the last rays of the sun.  </p>
<p>“I love to see you smile,” Petyr said. “Tell me, my lady. What do you want that you do not have? What would make you feel safe? Happy?”</p>
<p>Sansa ran her fingers along the railing as she considered.</p>
<p>“Space. A change of scene. A house, high on a hill with vast rooms and gardens and a view of the sea. Somewhere I could walk. Could hear the surf. Smell the ocean. Outside of King’s Landing where I can be free and not have to worry. I know you mean to protect me, Petyr, but I can’t stay like this, <em>we </em>can’t stay like this. I thought getting out today would make me feel better, but it only made me want it more.”</p>
<p> “The moment we get what we want, we want something else,” Petyr mused, as the sun disappeared below the horizon.</p>
<p>#</p>
<p>“What’s this?” Sansa asked, as Olyvar swept into her room the next afternoon.</p>
<p>“Petyr requests you accompany him on the terrace tonight. Wearing this gown. He said he can’t take you out to Tyrell galas, but he can bring a bit of the glamour here.”</p>
<p>Sansa eyed Olyvar suspiciously.</p>
<p>“Dinner, Lady Sansa. It’s just dinner.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Okay. Thank you.”</p>
<p>“Try not to pocket the silverware, will you? It will be an elegant evening and theft is generally considered ill-mannered.”  </p>
<p>Sansa reddened to her ears. “I – I’m sorry,” she stammered.</p>
<p>“Oh, I imagine you were,” Olyvar said archly, leaving Sansa to wonder how much he’d guessed and deepening her blush.</p>
<p>Once the handsome blonde departed, Sansa unzipped the oversized garment bag and the gown popped out, springing free of its cage.</p>
<p>Layers and layers of airy white tulle made up the giant skirts, topped with a few black and gray tiers of various lengths. The bodice carried through the same sheer gray coloring, beaded and embroidered in just the right areas to cover a woman’s breasts. Sansa was sure the ballgown cost thousands of dollars, possibly tens of thousands. The silhouette bore resemblance to a wedding dress, a <em>dark</em> wedding dress, and the thought made Sansa swallow thickly at the accompanying pang in her heart.</p>
<p>
  <em>You wanted to marry him once. And here he is again.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>…It’s almost all too good to be true. </em>
</p>
<p>#</p>
<p>Sansa took the time to set her hair into loose waves, cascading down her back. After all, Olyvar said not to hurry. She wondered what Petyr was up to as she swept a shimmery brown shadow across the lids of her eyes and glossed her lips with a subtle pink. Her heart beat a little faster, excited, as she slid on her kitten heels. Petyr had provided plenty of stilettos, he didn’t seem at all intimated by her height. But Sansa wanted to be as evenly matched as possible that evening.</p>
<p>With a deep breath, she opened her door and walked down the hall to Petyr’s bedroom. Holding herself as formally as if she entered a ballroom, she stepped onto the terrace.</p>
<p>
  <em>By the gods, he looked dashing in a tux. </em>
</p>
<p>Sansa’s mouth dropped when she walked outside. The roofdeck had been transformed, taking her breath away, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from Petyr.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck, did the man know how to dress.  </em>
</p>
<p>And the smirk on his face told her he knew it. But his own hungry eyes told her she’d stunned him as well.</p>
<p>Sansa let her gaze wander over the scene. The usual recessed lighting had been turned off. Instead, Petyr lit the electric fire that ran one end of the rectangular infinity pool, and scattered pillars throughout the outdoor kitchen, garden, roofdeck – some natural and some electric, as safety dictated, she supposed. One huge candelabra burned on a table set elegantly in the middle of the floor. Throughout the terrace, dozens of white roses in clear, contemporary vases had been arranged with clean, modern lines, scenting the air. Sansa’s ears picked up the familiar strains of arias she knew but could not name, playing on the sound system.</p>
<p>She swallowed. For some reason, it was almost uncomfortably too much. That was Petyr’s way. Everything over-the-top.</p>
<p>#</p>
<p>Olyvar prepared a gorgeous meal. Scallops in butter, to start. Filet mignon, cooked to juicy perfection and topped with blue cheese, for their entrees. The red wine flowed, rare bottles from Chateauneuf-de-Pape, Petyr had in reserve.</p>
<p>And for dessert, before he departed and gave them privacy for the evening, Olyvar brought out lemon cake, three ways. One, traditional, with spongy layers. Another served with a lemon-mint sorbet. And finally, Sansa’s new favorite, topped with crystallized rose, hibiscus, and violet petals, and served with flower syrups of the same flavors.</p>
<p>Her extravagant, delicate dress clung to Sansa’s curves so tightly, had the meal been anything less than perfection she might have been too cautious to eat it. But Petyr moved so smoothly, so easily, it was impossible not to fall under the spell of the evening. Their conversation flowed like the wine.    </p>
<p>“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” she told him, when they’d eaten the last spoonful of cake. “And I don’t know that I can repair myself the way you did, Petyr. I don’t feel forged by fire. I’ve been thinking of it more like Kintsugi. You know, the Japanese art where an object breaks and a person fills in the cracks with gold? They reassemble it and make it more beautiful and valuable than it was before.” Sansa twirled the stem of her wine glass. “That’s how I feel… cracked. That’s how I view damaged people. We have these openings now, these spaces. And it’s up to us to decide what to fill them with. Mud. Paste. Gold. The crack is there, it isn’t going away. It’s up to me to decide what to stick in there in order to repair it.”</p>
<p>Intensely, he watched her speak. Even in his stillness Petyr made her heart pound. It wasn’t just his beauty, it was that he listened, rapt. Paid attention and cared to understand her.</p>
<p>Petyr laid his napkin on the table and stood, holding out his hand.</p>
<p>“Dance with me,” he said.</p>
<p>Sansa’s breath quivered a little as she inhaled, and she blinked away the memory. It was all a little too much again. Not long before he betrayed her, the other Petyr had asked her to dance.</p>
<p>Flashing a smile, she extended one long arm and Petyr helped her rise, immediately sweeping her into a turn and making her laugh.</p>
<p><em>Men didn’t do this,</em> she thought. Not Jon or Theon. Certainly not any of the horrid Lannisters or any other men she’d ever met. Not even Robb, though he was romantic, at times. But Petyr wasn’t like other men. He didn’t care about roles, expectations, or what anyone else thought. He didn’t care about anything except what he wanted.</p>
<p>After the song ended, Petyr drew Sansa, breathless, down onto his lap. Sansa giggled as her layers of tulle fluffed once, floating gently up into the air before settling and practically burying Petyr beneath their multitude.</p>
<p>Petyr withdrew his cellphone from his pocket, displaying a picture of a house on a bluff, overlooking the sea. Most of the massive estate was trimmed in brown-gray shingles, the aristocratic style of a bygone era. The east-facing facade, almost entirely all-glass, afforded unblocked views of the ocean. Sansa glimpsed manicured hedge-gardens, English-style, to the left of the house. A rough set of stairs led down to the beach.</p>
<p>“What’s this?” she asked, brow furrowing, pulse already racing.</p>
<p>“It’s ours. A place by the sea.”</p>
<p>“You <em>bought </em>this?”</p>
<p>“I’ve rented it through the year, with an option to buy. You haven’t seen it yet,” he shrugged. “I wasn’t sure if you’d like it.”</p>
<p>Sansa gulped. Time seemed to slow. She felt her heart skip a beat, painfully, then pick up speed.</p>
<p><em>This is too much.</em>  </p>
<p>Petyr cocked his head. “You don’t like it.”</p>
<p>“I – I…”</p>
<p>
  <em>Why was her heart racing? </em>
</p>
<p>“No, it’s… beautiful.”</p>
<p>
  <em>The dress, the dinner, and now a house? It wasn’t real. This wasn’t all real, it couldn’t be. And the dancing was like before. Was she a fool?</em>
</p>
<p>“Then why do you look as if you might be sick?”</p>
<p>
  <em>It’s like it was everything she ever wanted with Petyr. Did he know? Was he tricking her again? Using gifts and false courtship to lull her into complacency? </em>
</p>
<p>Sansa gulped again as if she could gulp down the rising panic.</p>
<p>
  <em>Was she falling for his tricks a second time?  </em>
</p>
<p>“I… I… can’t do this.”</p>
<p>“Sansa…” Petyr said, soothing. As if he could talk her down, like he had after he squeezed the back of her neck.</p>
<p>“No!” she cut him off sharply, rising to her feet. “Don’t you understand? I can’t be a stupid little girl anymore, a girl who never learns.” She backed away, shaking her head. “I’d rather play with power than play with trust. I can’t… I don’t trust you… I want to leave, Petyr. I need to get out of here, to do this on my own. I’m better on my own…”</p>
<p>Petyr clenched his jaw, staring hard at Sansa. In a moment, his mask fixed in place. In a moment, a chasm gaped between them. Spreading, ready to swallow one or the other if either Sansa or Petyr stepped forward.</p>
<p>Swiftly, Petyr grabbed Sansa’s hand and pulled her.</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh god, oh god, was he going to lock her up in the cage?</em>
</p>
<p>“Where are you taking me? Let go!” She stumbled, trying to match his brisk pace. “Petyr, what are you doing?”</p>
<p><em>The playroom,</em> Sansa thought, eyes wide as he pulled her downstairs. <em>He knows I’m onto him and he’s going to lock me up. </em></p>
<p>But Petyr turned down the hall and pulled Sansa into his office instead. He reached his bookcase, pulled out a heavy tome she didn’t see, and pushed buttons behind it. Sansa stared, confused. Petyr withdrew a key from his desk entered it into a lock she couldn’t see.</p>
<p>Sansa gasped as the bookcase swung, revealing a secret doorway. She could make out the tops of a staircase, descending… all the way to the ground?</p>
<p>For a moment, Petyr didn’t move. Sansa wished she could see his face.</p>
<p>Finally, he turned around.</p>
<p>“You’re right. I can, and have, forced you to rely on me. But I can’t force you to trust me.” He blinked, then said, “The code is 9217. This key is kept in the top right drawer of the desk, though I’m sure you could pick the lock.”</p>
<p>Sansa stared. Why was he telling her this? Was it a trick?</p>
<p>“You have my secret now. The way out. It’s yours. You can leave anytime. You can use this passage now, if you like. I’ll alert the guards outside not to interfere. I won’t stop you.” He spoke level, clipped. “I won’t have you changing your mind every time you remember him. I don’t expect you to forget, but I expect you not to try to run away each time you recall the past.”</p>
<p>Petyr stepped back. “I give you your freedom, Lady Sansa. If that’s what you want, take it.”  </p>
<p>Lips parted in surprise, eyes round, Sansa didn’t move. As Petyr walked past her, she flicked her gaze back-and-forth between his receding form and the doorway to freedom. Her heart pounded so loudly she could hear it in her ears.</p>
<p>#</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck. Shit. Fuck it all. </em>
</p>
<p>Petyr stood in his great room, watching the video feed on his laptop, clenching and unclenching his left hand.</p>
<p>
  <em>I’d risk everything to get what I want. </em>
</p>
<p>A younger version of himself, taunting him now with his words, then.</p>
<p>
  <em>If you love something, set it free and all that horseshit. </em>
</p>
<p>But that was meant to be a gamble with losing love. Opening the secret door gambled with her life, too.</p>
<p>
  <em>I’m risking her to win her. How’s that clever? </em>
</p>
<p>Fuck, shit, fuck.</p>
<p>She wouldn’t leave.</p>
<p>He could always run after her, if she descended the stairs.</p>
<p>Call his men and tell them not to let her go.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck, fuck!</em>
</p>
<p>Something was wrong with the goddamn sound on the surveillance. He could only see Sansa. What the fuck happened to the sound? Though she was in full color, he felt like he’d been plunged into the dark ages of technology, forced to watch a grainy black-and-white feed. Or something out of a horror movie. Which, he supposed, this was. He couldn’t think of anything more horrific than her stepping down the stairs and he’d done it himself.</p>
<p>Maybe he was a closet masochist.</p>
<p>At least, Sansa wasn’t saying much of anything anyway, he reasoned.</p>
<p>As soon as he left her, he pulled up the cameras from the office. Sansa hadn’t moved from the top of the stairs. She sat, staring down into the darkness, tulle skirts puffed up around her waist.</p>
<p>Petyr sat on his sofa, loosening his bow tie and rolling his neck. He withdrew a cigarette, lit it, then tossed the lighter back onto his coffee table. He stood again, pacing, eyes glued to the screen. The cigarette seemed to smoke itself, burned to the cherry with impossible speed. He lit another and re-commenced his pacing.</p>
<p>
  <em>Every ambitious move is a gamble. </em>
</p>
<p>But fuck, this wasn’t a gamble he was prepared to lose. It was a bluff. Would she call him on it? Find a way to slip through his fingers?</p>
<p>Petyr poured a shot of whiskey and tossed it back in one swoop. He poured another and did the same, slamming the empty glass the coffee table.  </p>
<p>
  <em>A lie. </em>
</p>
<p>He’d dragged her to the exit as if he didn’t care. As if his impatience with her lack of trust had pushed him to push her out the door. And he <em>was </em>irate – she needed to stop questioning him all the time. But he didn’t truly intend for her to leave. And now his own actions might push <em>him </em>to be the one to flip-flop, to abruptly change course. Because he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t go in and yank her back if she stepped one toe further.  </p>
<p>
  <em>What if she slipped into the night, never to be seen again? </em>
</p>
<p>Who was he kidding? He was fucking sure. If she moved, he’d move.</p>
<p>Feeling under the sofa, Petyr grabbed his Beretta. He didn’t dare tear his gaze from the artificial glow of the laptop screen.</p>
<p>Sansa hadn’t moved further, but she hadn’t retreated either.</p>
<p>Was she going to deliberate all night?</p>
<p>Why were they doing this when he could be inside her, fucking her right now?</p>
<p><em>Enough, </em>he thought -- just as he saw Sansa stir, rising to her feet. To descend or turn back, he didn’t know.</p>
<p>Petyr bolted for his office.</p>
<p>#</p>
<p>Sansa jumped when Petyr pushed the door wide. Her hand lay on the doorframe, bracing. She blinked, tensing cautiously as she turned.</p>
<p>Did something in his gaze look mad? Was he frightening her? Good. Maybe he’d scare some sense into her. For far too long they’d been dancing around each other this way. Inching forward, rushing back. Slamming together again and tearing it all asunder once more.</p>
<p>Wounded birds didn’t make the rules. And they certainly weren’t set free until they were ready to fly.</p>
<p>“Back away from the door, Sansa, and come here now.”</p>
<p>“I thought you said I was free to go.” Her hand tightened around the door fame, muscles coiling. “I thought you said the choice was mine. Was that just another lie? A trick? My freedom just an illusion?”</p>
<p>“Yes. No. I changed my mind.” Petyr withdrew the gun he’d tucked into the waistband at his back. He slid the frame of the Baretta up, turning the top of the weapon to face Sansa. “There’s a round in the chamber and the gun is fully loaded.” He clicked it back into place. “Safety’s on.” He placed the gun on the floor and gently nudged it across the hardwood, to her feet. She immediately picked it, on instinct.</p>
<p>“Take it. But come here first. Kiss me once and if you still want to leave, I’ll let you have your freedom.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Would he? She’d hate him more if he lied. Another lie, he might not ever be able to repair the trust. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>But if she kissed him, he might not need to decide. </em>
</p>
<p>He wouldn’t kiss her. Petyr didn’t know why, but he felt it <em>had </em>to be her kissing him.</p>
<p>
  <em>Better make it count. </em>
</p>
<p>Eyeing him suspiciously, Sansa took a few slow steps toward Petyr. Despite holding the gun, he grabbed her once she was close enough. One hand locked around her waist, the other fisted her hair, yanking her head back. Sansa gasped before she scowled.</p>
<p>“Stop it! You need to stop.”</p>
<p><em>“You</em> need to stop.”</p>
<p>“I’m not your sweetling, Petyr! I’m not a doll you can dress up and lock away and play with at your will.”</p>
<p><em>No time for going halfway,</em> he thought.</p>
<p>“You are what I say you are.”</p>
<p>“You’re <em>hurting</em> me.”</p>
<p>“Yet you’re grinding against me.”</p>
<p>He saw her jaw clench, fighting to cease the rocking of her hips. Her lips swelled, red and ready. Her cheeks flushed, her pupils blown wide. She was aroused. For his part, Petyr made no attempt to hide his erection.</p>
<p>She held the gun, he held the power.</p>
<p>He held her hair, she held the power.</p>
<p>It was intoxicating, exhilarating. The power they held over each other. Petyr hadn’t met his match before. <em>Why didn’t she see it?</em></p>
<p>“You know the truth. You practically already said it yourself,” he pointed out. “Why else are you here? Why travel through dimensions if it’s not meant to be? I am yours. You are mine.”</p>
<p>He pulled further, bowing her body back unnaturally, making her whimper. One of her hands held onto the gun, the other clutched him.  </p>
<p>“Say it,” he coaxed, low, biting the words out the side of his mouth.</p>
<p>Sansa didn’t close her eyes. He thought she would; they were hooded, hungry. But she kept them locked on his, staring at him with something like awe. The more they glazed in wonder, the more his eyes danced with triumph.</p>
<p>Breathing heavily, she panted, “I… I am yours and you are mine.”</p>
<p>He watched her soft pink lips form the words, then fall into a quivering <em>o-</em>shape, stunned by the weight of her own vow. He pulled her to up his chest, but it was she who parted her lips, she who drew her mouth to his…</p>
<p>…and that was all the invitation he needed.</p>
<p>Petyr kissed her back. For the first time since she was unconscious, he kissed her. The same feeling he had before, like an electrical current running though their bodies, passed over him once more, only this time, it was twice as powerful.</p>
<p>Her moan went straight to his head, his heart, his cock.</p>
<p>For half a heartbeat, he wanted to sweep her up and out – into the bedroom, somewhere soft and yielding. But he couldn’t wait. Beads popped. He heard them scatter to the floor and roll across the hardwood, some reaching the door and <em>plinging</em> down the stairs into darkness. The rip of delicate tulle sounded as he pushed her million layers out of his way. Impossible to repair. Tens of thousands of dollars gone in a flash.</p>
<p>It was worth it for her gasp of pleasure.</p>
<p>He pushed her back onto the desk, not-too-gently. She assisted in leaning back, parting her legs. In a flash, his trousers were gone.</p>
<p>
  <em>Saucy minx. </em>
</p>
<p>There was nothing underneath the dress.</p>
<p>
  <em>Did this Sansa have an aversion to panties or did he just inspire the dismissal of an unnecessary layer between him and her cunt? </em>
</p>
<p>No time to ask as he lined himself up and pushed inside her with a grunt.</p>
<p>Sansa wrapped her legs around his hips, bucking up to meet his thrusts. Petyr took one hand and brushed his thumb over her clit as they fucked. He wanted her to come first. He’d wait. Insistent, he rubbed and Sansa’s moans reached new heights. His fingers stroked a little harder, faster, while he slowed his thrusts, but deepened them.</p>
<p>He knew without looking his own pupils were blown wide, eyes wild, expression somewhere between lust-crazed and smug, when she started to cry out his name.</p>
<p>“Petyr, oh my god, please, there, yes, yes, Petyr, god, yes!”</p>
<p>He liked the way she merged his name with the almighty. Being her god suited him just fine.</p>
<p>Petyr picked up his pace, wanting to drive himself to the edge quickly now, so that she’d squeeze around him, coaxing his pleasure with hers.</p>
<p>It was a testament to how astonishing his orgasm was when Petyr didn’t know and couldn’t recall what he’d said as it ran through him.</p>
<p>He never lost control like that. He never would. Except for her. Only her.</p>
<p>#</p>
<p>“Come to bed, my love,” Petyr commanded, already in bed himself. Sansa smiled, obediently tucking herself under the covers beside him, facing him.</p>
<p>Reaching up, she stroked his face, closing her eyes and placing one kiss on his mouth.</p>
<p>Sansa chewed her lip and looked down.</p>
<p>“I want to tell you something, but you might think it’s crazy.” In the dim light, Petyr could just make out the blush on her cheeks. “Part of me feels… I don’t know. This is going to sound mad, but I feel like we’ve done this before. Over and over. Thousands of times, millions, maybe. In a thousand different versions of reality. And it never comes out right. We’re always fated to betray or kill each other over and over again. Never once staying together, never getting it right. Not until the impossible happened. Not until Bran did something and our paths crossed like this, cutting across the veil between worlds.”</p>
<p>“I don’t think it’s crazy,” Petyr rasped, and Sansa’s heart fluttered and <em>soared, </em>to hear he might feel the same. Then, gently teasing, he said, “Though I wouldn’t give Bran more credit than necessary. He’s just a middle-man, a door. I sought out his cabin and made demands at gunpoint that day.”</p>
<p>“Hey,” Sansa teased back softly, “if either of us get the credit, it’s <em>me, </em>Petyr. I’m the one who traveled worlds to find you.”</p>
<p>“Sweetling,” Petyr leaned to her ear and whispered warmly, “I’m the one who ordered you brought to me.”</p>
<p>Sansa threw back her head, laughing. Bran possessed some kind of mind-blowing magical ability and Petyr still found a smug way to take the credit. She flipped over, snuggling her backside into Petyr’s body, getting comfortable to sleep.</p>
<p>She sighed contentedly as he stroked her auburn hair, watching over her. After a few minutes, Petyr heard her even breathing, telling him she’d drifted off.  </p>
<p>He was about to join her when the buzz of his cell phone caught Petyr’s attention.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>We found him. Be there in fifteen minutes. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Perfect timing, as always. He rubbed his hand over his face, then glanced at the flame-haired angel next to him. She wasn’t going to like this. At all. But it was unquestionably for her own good. She’d have to see that, forgive his little deception.</p>
<p>Quietly, Petyr slid out of bed and pulled on a sharp pair of trousers, a freshly-pressed collared-shirt, and one of his favorite dark blazers.</p>
<p>He wanted to look his best when company came.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Petyr couldn’t imagine a worse scenario.</p><p>
  <em>Fucking hell. </em>
</p><p>That’s what this would be to her. Hell.</p><p>And she’d blame him – <em>fuck.</em> Instead of taking care of the problem, protecting her… everything he’d just done was going to make her trust him less.</p><p>Who was he kidding? She wouldn’t trust him at all, ever.</p><p>Shit.  </p><p>He hadn’t moved from the slipper chair for hours, facing her sleeping form. It reminded him of the first night she came to him, when he’d kept vigil over her through that night. Despite caging her, despite fighting her, despite betraying her. Despite <em>her </em>trying to kill <em>him.</em> He’d felt the need to watch over her.</p><p>Here he was again. Only this time…</p><p>She stirred and his heart thudded.</p><p>Blinking, Sansa sat up.</p><p>Petyr was impressed. Even in her sleep-addled state, her keen mind went to work before she said a word. Quietly, she studied him. Figuring out… he didn’t know exactly. But the look on his face tipped her off to guard herself. Warned her. <em>Proceed with caution. He’s done something.</em></p><p>Finally, Sansa asked, “What is it?”</p><p>Her voice was entirely even, the armored casing tightly wrapped around her form once more.</p><p>It was about to smash to pieces.</p><p>Petyr’s tongue darted out, tapping his lips once.</p><p>“We captured Theon last night.”</p><p>Sansa’s mask slipped as she let out a small gasp.</p><p>“We brought him here,” Petyr added.</p><p>“He’s here? Now?” Sansa leapt from the bed and grabbed her robe. She pulled it over her thin frame and said, “I want to see him. Let’s go, Petyr.”</p><p>When he didn’t rise, she froze. He could hear her deep intake of breath from across the room, followed by the slow exhale.</p><p>“You’ve already seen him, haven’t you? Spoken to him?”</p><p>Petyr stared, then nodded.</p><p>“How could you? How could you, without me?” She cocked her head. “Did you hurt him?”</p><p>“I… made sure he was telling the truth.”</p><p>Sansa scowled and made to leave.</p><p>“Listen to me, Sansa,” Petyr rose his feet. “Listen, Theon has betrayed you. But. He didn’t want to. He was blackmailed. He betrayed you to protect himself. Try to understand, if you think I betrayed you, it was only to protect you.”</p><p>“What are you talking about? How dare you speak to him without me.”  </p><p>“It was only for one night.”</p><p>“It wasn’t your decision to make!”</p><p>“Sansa, please,” Petyr said, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply through his nose. “There’s something you need to know. Please, just listen to me before you go in there. They threatened to kill his son.”</p><p>“Whose son? Theon doesn’t have a son.”</p><p>“He does. A boy of three. They’ve already killed the mother, a woman from the Iron Islands Theon had an affair with. And now he’s threatened to send his son to him, piece by piece, if he doesn’t find a way to hand over one of the Stark girls.”</p><p>“What are you talking about? Who threatened?”</p><p>Petyr’s eyes rounded, pained.</p><p>“Ramsay Snow.”</p><p>Sansa felt as if she’d been struck in the gut with a fist, all the wind knocked out of her. She blinked, shaking her head to dislodge the name from it.</p><p>“No, no, that’s not right.” Sansa clawed at her neck, trying to tear away the hand that seemed to be holding it, cutting off her air.</p><p>“Why are you lying?” her face distorted in horror. “What sick game is this, Petyr? Where’s Theon?”</p><p>She didn’t wait for him to answer, she bolted, heading for the playroom.</p><p>“Wait,” Petyr said, grabbing her arm.</p><p>“Let go of me! Right now, Petyr.”</p><p>“Wait, please, just calm down for one minute.”</p><p>“Don’t you fucking tell me to calm down you liar! Lair! It’s not true! Nothing you say is true! You let go of my arm right now of I swear I’ll kill you,” Sansa raked her nails down Petyr’s arm, drawing blood. When he flinched, spasming his fingers, she wrenched her arm free and ran from the room.</p><p>“Sansa!” Petyr called after her.</p><p>Racing down the stairs and to the playroom, Sansa pushed on the thick door, but it was locked.</p><p>“Open this door right now, Petyr. I swear to god you better open this door!” she shouted, turning the handle and pressing her full weight against the wood in a useless attempt to break it down.</p><p>“Theon!” she shouted, though she knew the room was soundproof. “Are you in there? Petyr you better let me in right now!”</p><p>When he caught up to her, he tried to rest his hand on her shoulder, but she smacked him off.</p><p>“Open the goddamn door, Petyr.” Her eyes were ice, her voice was steel. She bared her teeth, snarling, as if she bore fangs.</p><p>With a heavy sigh, Petyr withdrew the key, punched the code, and unlocked the door.</p><p>“Theon!” Sansa cried, before she even burst into the room and saw him.</p><p>He was there, cuffed to a chair, looking wretched. Bruised, bloodied. More than a little roughed up to gain the truth.</p><p>Sansa threw herself at his lap, hugging him, sobbing.</p><p>“Theon, Theon,” she repeated his name, nuzzling him. After a moment, she drew back to look at his face and her stomach knotted.</p><p>He was crying, miserably.</p><p>“Theon it’s not true. Tell me it’s not true.”</p><p>“I – I’m sorry, Sansa. H – he said he wouldn’t hurt you, he only wanted the Stark power, an heir…”</p><p><em>“No.</em> You’re lying.”</p><p>She pointed to Petyr.</p><p>“Stop it, you’re making him lie!”</p><p>“Sansa-” Petyr began.</p><p>“Stop it! I hate you!”</p><p>“Sansa…” Petyr continued, gently. “I underestimated an enemy, we all did. Things have been happening in the North, so quietly not even Varys’s little birds were aware. He’s Ramsay Bolton now, his father legitimized him. And he was coming for you whether Theon helped him or not.”</p><p>“Stop saying his name! It’s not true! You said he’s nothing here. A bastard of the North, not even playing the game.”</p><p>“I was wrong. We all were.”</p><p>Sansa kept shaking her head, fists clenched.</p><p>“He’s after your sister now,” Petyr said, softly. “He preferred you. He thought you’d be more… docile. But now that he believes you dead, he’s going after Arya. He plans on killing Robb after he weds her. That way, by the laws of Westeros, the Stark wealth and power falls to him and there’s nothing anyone can do to intervene.”</p><p>“No…” Sansa cried, body rocking.</p><p>Petyr was right. Their secret society flew above the law, largely because they operated discretely beneath it all. To expose their world would put a target on every Stark head, demolish the family forever. Secrecy was sacred, paramount, a death sentence if betrayed. By the rules, if Robb died and Sansa was already presumed dead, control of Stark assets would go to Arya. And her husband.</p><p>“Everything he did to you… he’s going to do to your sister. He’s closing in on her as we speak.”   </p><p>“Nooo…” Sansa groaned, feeling her stomach knot so tightly she was going to be sick.</p><p>“I have a plan to save her. To save you both and eliminate Ramsay for good.”</p><p>Sansa could feel the color drain from her face. She swayed.</p><p>
  <em>No, no, no, no. </em>
</p><p>It was happening again.</p><p>
  <em>No, no, no, no. </em>
</p><p>All over again.</p><p>“Sansa, please, remember what you said last night…” Petyr pled.</p><p>“I was wrong!”</p><p>“No. You weren’t.”</p><p>“Sansa, please. I need you to trust me.”</p><p>She began laughing, but there was no mirth to it. It was hysteria. Tears streaked down her face as she rocked, as she continued to shake her head.</p><p>“Sansa…” Theon moaned, helpless to do anything but watch her break down.</p><p>“Lothor!” Petyr called and Sansa didn’t know why. Then she heard it, her own voice. She wasn’t just thinking, <em>no, no, no,</em> she was babbling it.</p><p>Petyr’s hands were on her biceps, holding her steady and she wanted him <em>off. Now.</em></p><p>“Say it!” Sansa cried. “Say it!”</p><p>Petyr grit his teeth, pained.</p><p>Sansa’s laughter grew.</p><p>“Say it, Petyr, you fucking say it! You owe me that! Fucking say it! <em>You have a plan. You want me to be the bait. Just like before.” </em></p><p>Just like he did in her world when he delivered her straight into her rapists hands and left her there to be tortured.</p><p>Petyr looked at her with watery eyes, squeezing her shoulders. “Sweetling, please. You have to trust me.”</p><p>Sansa’s hysteria bubbled higher, making it difficult to see straight, as if it blanketed her in darkness.</p><p>She heard herself laugh-cry one last time before her mind snapped.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is unedited but it has been SO LONG since I posted, I wanted to get it up asap! It's a short chapter, but I hope you enjoy it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>No, no, no.</em>
</p><p>She rocked on the bed… <em>her bed?</em> No, <em>his</em> bed.</p><p><em>“No, no, no,”</em> she was babbling it again.</p><p>“Lothor,” Petyr was shouting for his man and Sansa remembered the pattern. The large bodyguard would come with the pills and he and Petyr would force them down her throat. Water always spilled but it didn’t matter because she was soaked with sweat and the chill felt good. Like the cold rag Petyr used to wipe her down. She hated his touch, but the rag felt nice, and Sansa didn’t think her arms worked well enough to push him away anyway. Besides, where would she go?</p><p>Sometime after she swallowed the medicine, her shaking would stop. Sometime later, she’d fall asleep. Each time she awoke, she felt a little calmer, a little more in control.</p><p>Sansa didn’t know how much time had passed like this, going in and out of consciousness. She only knew that it got a little easier each time she regained lucidity.<em> It’s not just my hair that’s been kissed by fire, </em>she told herself, <em>and that spark inside</em> hadn’t<em> burned out.</em> It had been stomped on and smothered, but it burned deep within, like hot coals or glowing embers. Sansa just needed time for the sparks to catch, for the flames to fan.</p><p>To <em>remember </em>the other world. To hold onto that fire. <em>Her</em> fire. Not the heat she shared with the man who even now soothed with sugared lies, whose lips were laced with sweet poison as he kissed her sweaty brow. She needed to close herself that man, to everything that had happened since she dropped into this world.</p><p>Stoked by the heat of those flames, <em>her </em>flames, a thought came to life inside Sansa. Just a seedling at first, but she protected it, nurtured it.</p><p>She wouldn’t let Petyr deliver her unto a fate worse than death. Not this time. She was a slow learner, but she <em>learned.</em></p><p>This time, she’d beat Petyr at his own game. Make a move before he did.</p><p>#</p><p>“I don’t believe you,” Sansa whispered, eyelids fluttering closed, head on her pillow. As usual, Petyr sat over her.</p><p><em>Don’t come around too easy. </em>Let him <em>convince </em>you. He thinks himself <em>so </em>clever, <em>so </em>persuasive…</p><p>“Sweetling,” Petyr said, reaching out to stroke her cheek. Sansa turned her head; a show of anger. When Petyr continued reaching and Sansa had nowhere else to go, she sighed and allowed his attentions.</p><p>“I’m not him. I won’t betray you. Listen to me, <em>listen.</em> Remember what you said. What is the reason for all of this, why are you here, if not to get it right this time? Why did time and space bend themselves? I can’t – I still can’t even get my head around it. What was it all for, if not for us to be together, to learn to trust each other?”</p><p><em>For me to trust myself,</em> Sansa wanted to scream. <em>To get it right this time by winning the game over you.</em></p><p>Fate had given her an impossibility – a second chance to prove herself. She wouldn’t squander it.</p><p>But Sansa allowed her eyes to soften, as if Petyr’s words touched her heart.</p><p>“I have a plan,” he insisted, just like before. Maybe with a hint more pleading in his voice this time, in this world. The pad of his thumb traced her cheekbone, lightly, burning all the same.  </p><p><em>No, I have a plan,</em> Sansa thought.</p><p>“We’ll make it look as if I’m handing you over to Ramsey, we’ll lure him out and into a false sense of safety. We’ll ambush him, destroy him and all of his followers. Eradicate his house from Westeros. I know, I know this all happened before but you’re not in that world anymore. I know it sounds the same but <em>I’m </em>not the same man. Listen to me, sweetling, you’re not with that Petyr any longer. You’re not in that world any longer.”</p><p><em>No, I’m not,</em> Sansa thought. <em>Because in this world, </em>I’ll <em>make it look as if I’m going along with </em>your <em>plan. But this time, I’ll be turning on </em>you <em>first. </em></p><p>#</p><p>“Do you want to come to my office with me?” Petyr asked. “You can listen to every word I say. I’m not hiding anything from you, I swear it.”</p><p>Sansa shook her head. “I’m tired. And maybe… the less I know, the better. I can… act more surprised.”</p><p>Petyr clasped her hands in his. “This call will take some time. I will lay out the logistics with Ramsey and then we’re going to have to release Theon to play his part.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Sansa said, lips turning up into the hint of a weary smile. “I trust Theon. He only betrayed me when he thought he didn’t have another way. Now he’s got a better option.”</p><p>She bit her tongue from saying, <em>it’s </em>you<em> I don’t trust.</em></p><p>Petyr bent his head, bringing his lips to her knuckles and kissing them gently. His stubble tickled; it had grown a little longer the last few days when he’d been too busy tending Sansa to bother with shaving.</p><p>Sansa flashed a quick, half-smile. “You take care of it for us, Petyr. I trust you. And I’m tired. I need sleep.”</p><p>“Rest, my love,” he said, rising from the bed, arm extended as he waited until the last moment to let go of her hand.</p><p>Sansa settled into the pillow, closing her eyes.</p><p>She’d wait until she could be <em>sure </em>Petyr would be engrossed on the call with Ramsey, plotting her abduction.</p><p>Then she’d tiptoe into the playroom and have a talk with Theon. With her brother’s help, she'd double-cross Petyr first.</p><p>
  <em>Everything depended on it. </em>
</p><p>#</p><p>For all the calculating going on behind the cold eyes of Petyr Baelish, no one would know it to look upon him. He sat as if carved from stone in the deep, leather chair in his office. One arm hung to the side, holding a glass of whiskey, neat.</p><p>Petyr watched the events unfold on the screen before him. He’d been cold stone for several minutes. Not because he was shocked by what he saw, but because it set in motion multiple potential scenarios he needed to play out to all possible conclusions in his mind.</p><p>Each was a risk of incalculable proportions.</p><p>Petyr blinked slowly at the screen across from him, watching his redhead betray him.</p><p>He wasn’t lying when he told Sansa there were no cameras in the bathrooms or the playroom. There <em>weren’t.</em></p><p>At the time.</p><p>Since bringing Theon into his custody, Petyr had of course installed surveillance on the Greyjoy boy.</p><p>Sansa hugged her adopted brother as they finalized their plans and a strange twinge of jealously shot through Petyr. He didn’t blame Theon; Petyr respected that his true loyalties lay with Sansa.</p><p>But Sansa… she departed the room, her flash of red hair trailing behind her. No doubt to slip quickly back under the covers and feign sleep before his return.</p><p>Petyr brought the glass to his lips, feeling the welcome burn of liquor down his throat.</p><p>Things were about to go from bad to much, <em>much </em>worse.</p><p>#</p><p>Sansa had never been to war before, but she felt just a hint of what soldiers must feel on the eve of battle. The air around her seemed to hum, seemed electrified. Every move she took bore more weight, every breath and word infused with greater meaning, knowing that the next day, a game of life-or-death began.  </p><p>In the morning, she and Petyr departed for the North. Quieting her mind seemed a Herculean feat. Amidst the plotting, the acting, and the endless debating in her head, one thought kept bobbing to the surface.</p><p>
  <em>I’m going to see Ramsey Bolton before my own family.</em>
</p><p>Of all the imminent horrors, it shouldn’t seem critical, but it felt so <em>wrong. </em>Sansa had time with only Bran and Theon. But while the rest of her siblings lived and breathed in this world, she’d been given no opportunity to see them again, to hug them or speak with them. And if it all somehow exploded in her face and she died – or worse – not seeing her family would be her one heart-aching regret.</p><p>Sansa wondered if Petyr too felt the urgency, the danger. <em>Why should he? He planned on betraying her, what worry did he have? </em></p><p>But the desperation in his touch as he stroked her that night…</p><p>Sansa turned away, rejecting him, but she hadn’t the will to the leave the bed and Petyr inserted his will in its place; she’d wound up face-down while his hands hungrily pulled the top of her negligée down and pushed the hem up around her waist.</p><p>
  <em>Don’t touch me. Liar. Betrayer. </em>
</p><p>Petyr cupped her breasts and she moaned softly. He pressed the full length of his naked body to hers and though it felt like cold water filled Sansa’s stomach, she couldn’t deny the warmth of his flesh, the heat of his breath on her neck.</p><p>“Trust me, sweetling,” he murmured in her ear, no hint of irony that the phrase had been used last time, in the last world, right before he betrayed her.</p><p>Sansa shook her head but didn’t trust herself to speak, feeling his erection against her thigh. Would she cry out <em>stop</em> or <em>yes?</em> Either way she knew her voice would crack and she wouldn’t let him hear it. Petyr could interpret the whimper she failed to restrain however he chose. Half-heartedly, she squirmed beneath him, trying to free her body from his.</p><p>“Trust me, sweetling,” he rasped deeply, huskily this time, as if his tone could sear the words into her brain, clutching her shoulder tightly as he spoke.</p><p><em>Never,</em> she thought. <em>I will never make that mistake again. </em></p><p>When she gave a slight attempt at bucking him off, he nudged her legs apart and inserted himself firmly between her. From behind, one of Petyr’s hands rose and folded over hers, lacing their fingers together and stopping her push against the pillow. His other hand grasped her waist, titling her hips to better angle where he could drive into her.</p><p>“Whatever happens, remember this,” he rasped against her ear. “Remember <em>us.” </em></p><p>He thrust inside and the lie felt so true. As if in his arms she found home, found all the answers to all the questions and her purpose in this crazy life, the very <em>meaning </em>of life itself.</p><p><em>It’s just your head playing tricks on you,</em> she warned. Assigning too much weight to the moment. Sansa’s hips rolled and she inhaled Petyr’s scent, wanting to hold it in her mind despite herself.</p><p>Petyr let go of her hand so that he could reach around and touch her below, touch her just as only he knew how. Sansa had no escape – from behind her he pumped deep within her core and and before her, his fingers stroked her clit. Petyr wasn’t physically bigger – at least not taller – but he somehow always gave Sansa the sensation of being held entirely in his hands.  </p><p>“Remember this,” Petyr whispered again. “Remember <em>us.”</em></p><p><em>Liar, betrayer,</em> Sansa cried in her mind.</p><p>She was grateful he was behind her, at least. He couldn’t see her tears. <em>Petyr couldn’t know everything, could he?</em> Even <em>she </em>didn’t know why she cried. Because she hated and loved him. Because he was going to betray her but she was going to betray him first. Because she desperately wanted him to stop and desperately wanted him to continue… Sansa yearned for Petyr to take her to that edge and push her over. To fall together with her into that abyss where they no longer inhabited their earthly bodies, where they almost ceased existing as <em>Petyr</em> and <em>Sansa</em> and fused, if only for a moment, into something so much more.</p><p>If only for one last time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Morning brought another sweltering day in what was now the hottest summer on record in King’s Landing. <em>The dog days of summer,</em> they were called, and Sansa didn’t like the omen.</p>
<p>At least they headed north, to the mountains, to cooler temperatures.</p>
<p><em>Petyr plays it so cool, of course,</em> Sansa thought, watching him adjust his cuffs and slide his aviator sunglasses over his eyes, shielding them.</p>
<p>“Ready?” he asked. Even from across the sleek roofdeck, Sansa could see the familiar cocking of one eyebrow as he spoke. She’d been taking a last look at the jaw-dropping, unobstructed view of the city down to Blackwater Bay.</p>
<p>She tipped her own black sunglasses down onto her nose, concealing her eyes.</p>
<p>“Ready,” she replied, successfully keeping the tremor from running through her voice as she hoped the bodyguards were indeed <em>ready</em>. They were Theon’s men, this was Theon’s coordination, acting as the go-between for Petyr and Ramsay. At least… they <em>would </em>be the right guards if Theon swayed Petyr, if everything Sansa had whispered to him the night before played out as she’d hoped.</p>
<p>Petyr’s touch on her arm, gentle-but-firm - <em>and always fucking guiding</em> – made Sansa clench her teeth, denying the urge to break down in tears.</p>
<p><em>It might all be fixable… somehow…</em> the girlish voice in her protested, refusing to believe Petyr meant to betray her. <em>You have no proof. You may still be able to sort it out, once everyone is safely ensconced back in Winterfell.</em></p>
<p>“Thank you for understanding,” Sansa said, gently running her hand over the gun tucked into her skirt’s waistband. Petyr had only fought her on carrying the weapon until she’d let her eyes round and fill with unshed tears. He’d relented, and they agreed she’d relinquish it before entering Ramsay’s estate.</p>
<p>“Of course, sweetling,” he replied.</p>
<p>The sleek, shiny limousine already awaited in Petyr’s underground garage by the time they made their way down.</p>
<p>Ever the gentlemen -- as if he wasn’t leading her into horror -- Petyr held Sansa’s hand, helping her slip into the vehicle.</p>
<p>When the bodyguard already seated to her right gave her an almost-imperceptible nod, she breathed a sigh of relief.</p>
<p>#</p>
<p>As they neared Moat Cailin, Sansa steadied her mind. Soon, they’d turn toward the Dreadfort and beyond that, Ramsay’s well-fortified home. Roose had modernized the ancestral estate too much for his wild son’s taste, and the younger Bolton had staked out an older house at the base of the Lonely Hills. The move partially encroached on Umber lands and only failed to cause dispute because no one else wanted the decaying old manor.</p>
<p>Really, the manor was more a fort itself. And if the Ramsay in <em>this </em>world was anything like the one in her old world, Sansa knew he liked it for the medieval dungeons. Closing her eyes, she could remember the sound of rats scurrying across the stones, the stench of mold and rot, and the ceaseless cold that threatened to chill her to death. And <em>still </em>she preferred those accommodations over the other – a bedroom Ramsay set aside for her. A mockery. A room where she’d be placed when he wanted her cleaned, ready to be bloodied and <em>worse.</em></p>
<p>She couldn’t think about that.  </p>
<p>Sansa inhaled, anchoring herself in the present. The pristine, fresh-leather scent of Petyr’s limo was a stark contrast to Ramsay’s aesthetic but no less dangerous. Correction – it was <em>more </em>dangerous because it was an illusion, obscuring the monster beneath.</p>
<p><em>It’s almost time,</em> Sansa thought.</p>
<p>Once she seized control, she’d correct the limo’s course straight to Winterfell. She’d be home, safe. Her family could help her better than Petyr ever could, even when he’d been pretending to be a decent man.</p>
<p>
  <em>One deep breath, eyes closed… </em>
</p>
<p>Heart picking up speed, Sansa flicked her gaze to the bodyguard sitting to her right.</p>
<p>“I miss my family,” she said, speaking the agreed-upon phrase she’d worked out with Theon the night before. “I wish I could see them one last time.”</p>
<p>Her heart leapt when, just as planned, all three bodyguards in the limousine responded to her signal, unholstering their guns and pointing them at Petyr.</p>
<p><em>I did it! </em>Sansa thought, scarcely believing it, heart racing faster. She met Petyr’s curious gaze and quickly raised her own weapon. He’d had no time to draw his.</p>
<p>Sansa spoke firmly, declaring, “I will not allow you to betray me again, Petyr. You’re in <em>my </em>control now. This plan – all of it – is under my control. We’re going home, to Winterfell. My family and I will come up with a strategy to deal with Ramsay. And decide what’s to become of <em>you.”</em> She pushed back her shoulders. “I <em>know </em>you meant to betray me, I’m not an idiot. Robb will deal with you. I never want to see you again.”</p>
<p><em>Liar,</em> her mind screamed. <em>Your heart is practically howling. </em></p>
<p>Petyr didn’t reply and Sansa frowned.</p>
<p><em>He’s acting… off. Too calm, </em>she thought.<em> No, it’s a show,</em> she reasoned. <em>He’s wearing his mask to fool you. </em></p>
<p>Sansa almost smirked. <em>Not even a good show. I can tell you’re struggling internally, Petyr. I know you. It’s </em>you<em> who’s underestimated </em>me.</p>
<p>Surveying her coup, Sansa let her eyes roll over the strong, well-armed men in the limo’s seats beside her. All guns were firmly trained on her ex-lover. He couldn’t escape. She raised her chin.</p>
<p><em>I’m safe,</em> she thought trying to calm her racing pulse, arm extended as she pointed her gun at Petyr’s head. <em>Safe and going home.</em></p>
<p>Petyr licked his lips. Voice low, he asked, “Are you sure you want to do this?”</p>
<p><em>Son-of-a-bitch!</em> How <em>dare </em>he try to manipulate her? Coo in that soothing, raspy voice of his, thinking to make her second-guess herself?</p>
<p>Livid, Sansa nearly snorted her laugh. Her <em>life </em>hung in the balance and he thought he’d talk his way out of it the way he did everything else?</p>
<p>“Fuck you, Petyr. You seriously think I’d trust you, let you place me in Ramsay’s hands a <em>second </em>time? Just be thankful I don’t kill you now. The only reason you’re alive is because I might need you. Remember that. The second you’re of no use to me, I put a bullet in your head.”</p>
<p>Slowly, Petyr’s eyes closed. They remained closed for an abnormally long, tense second. When he reopened them, a different Petyr appeared, raising the hair on Sansa’s neck. <em>What was it?</em> Frantically, she searched his face. Nothing had changed, his expression remained fixed, blank. A mask.</p>
<p><em>His eyes, </em>Sansa thought. It was as if a darkness crept forth, previously held back, concealed in the depths of his irises.</p>
<p>Sansa swallowed thickly. She blinked, trying to clear what she hoped was an imagined transformation. Petyr didn’t move, no one in the limo moved, but <em>something </em>happened.</p>
<p>Then, like a monster in a horror movie, Petyr’s head remained forward but his eyes swung slowly to the left. He gave a small nod to the bodyguard.</p>
<p>Sansa’s world spun, making her want to retch, as the simple look cued all of the bodyguards to turn and point their guns in <em>her</em> direction.</p>
<p>
  <em>No! This can’t be happening. </em>
</p>
<p><em>Stupid, stupid girl who never learns!</em> Her mind was too slow, too foolish. It refused to believe it, even as every weapon in the limo now aimed at <em>her </em>head, even as the pitiless look on Petyr’s face told her she’d somehow been outmaneuvered.</p>
<p>
  <em>Please god, no. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Had Theon betrayed her again?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>This isn’t real. Wake up, Sansa! </em>
</p>
<p>Petyr was bringing her back to her rapist, her torturer. It was just as she’d suspected, just as she dreaded. It was happening all over again, repeating itself. Oh god, maybe it was even an endless loop of horror she’d endure for eternity.</p>
<p>Sansa’s next move didn’t even feel mindful; it wasn’t even a cognizant thought. Acting as if on some deeper level, she bent her arm, pressing the gun securely to her temple.</p>
<p>She pulled the trigger.</p>
<p>
  <em>Click. </em>
</p>
<p>Startled, Sansa blinked.</p>
<p><em>Click, click,</em> she tried again and again.</p>
<p><em>“No…”</em> she wailed.</p>
<p><em>Oh god, he knew. Knew what she’d do. It was impossible, she’d </em>checked<em> the gun and it hadn’t left her hands… </em></p>
<p>But somehow, he’d managed it. Just like the night they re-met, when she’d broken into his condo -- Petyr pulled the same trick. He allowed her to access a gun only to give her a false sense of security, because he’d removed the bullets.</p>
<p>She was trapped. Everything was repeating itself, <em>everything!</em></p>
<p>The limo interior spun badly now and darkness crept around the edges of Sansa’s vision. But she couldn’t swoon, not now, not at a time like this.</p>
<p>“I’d rather die while there’s still some of me left,” she swore, looking directly at Petyr. “You’ll have to kill me before I go back there.”</p>
<p>Sansa lunged for the limo door, hoping to make it onto the street but knowing it was more likely she’d be shot -- and that outcome was fine too.</p>
<p>Instead, the bodyguards <em>– the men she’d trusted –</em> lunged right on top of her.</p>
<p>“Kill me!” Sansa screamed. “Don’t bring me back there! Kill me, kill me, kill me!”</p>
<p>She couldn’t see Petyr as they flipped her over and tied her arms, pressing her head against the pristine limo carpet. They tied her legs next. She didn’t even realize the extent of her screams until they gagged her mouth and she broke down in sobs. She’d never cried so hard in her life, and she’d cried over Petyr more than she could bear to admit.</p>
<p>She was an utter fool. Because the worst part of everything that happened was <em>her.</em></p>
<p><em>She’d </em>held onto some wild hope that she’d been wrong. That Petyr was never planning on betraying her and that it would all come out somehow… once they were safe at Winterfell. Despite making all her plans, deep down inside… the silly little girl still held a belief that Petyr, her hero, her love, would come through.</p>
<p>
  <em>Was it all a lie? </em>
</p>
<p>Sansa used to think she couldn’t hurt any worse than the first time he betrayed her. Now, it felt like Petyr ripped her heart out of her chest and nailed the tender organ to the stone walls of Ramsay’s fort. It was as if the organ was no longer in her body, yet she couldn’t stop the pain. The image felt so real, Sansa winced with each strike of the hammer she imagined Petyr swinging, piercing her bloody heart.</p>
<p><em>I’ve gone insane,</em> she marveled. <em>Maybe it’s for the best.</em></p>
<p>When the bodyguards dumped Sansa back onto her seat, she let herself fall on her side, curling into a bundle and crying. She was long past shame, long past caring if Petyr saw her brought so low.</p>
<p>He shook his head, ducking as he crossed the limo to sit beside her. “Did you really think you could betray me?” he <em>tsked.</em> “If I thought better of you, I might be insulted.”</p>
<p>Sansa made a noise between a groan and a squeal. That was the voice he used - the tone, the words - on <em>other </em>people. People he’d beaten. Not her. Not here, in this world.</p>
<p>After a pause, Petyr said, “In case you’re wondering, Theon didn’t betray you, you <em>were </em>outmaneuvered. There have been cameras in my playroom since we captured your unpredictable brother. I witnessed all of your scheming that night. I might have even been generous with your treatment if you’d come clean just now when I gave you the chance. But you insisted on going forth with your ridiculous plan.”</p>
<p>Sansa let her eyes close once more. Why was Petyr telling her this? To brag that he’d done it alone or to let her know how long he’d really been in control?</p>
<p><em>I was doomed before I even began, </em>she thought.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hours later, when Sansa’s crying dulled to soft weeping, she found Petyr still sitting near her, over her. Just looking at his face made fresh tears fall.</p>
<p>Petyr tucked a stringy, sweaty lock of her hair behind her ear. Sansa flinched at his touch.</p>
<p>“You should get a hold of your crying, Lady Sansa. We’ll soon arrive. Men will gather to witness to your wedding. If you don’t put on a show for them, can you imagine what Ramsay will do to you?”</p>
<p>Petyr brushed another lock of hair from her sweaty forehead. “It won’t be like it was between us,” he sighed coldly, dramatically. “He enjoys a lady's screaming and I don’t think he uses safewords, sweetling.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Still a short update, but I'm improving! I wrote this fic in tandem with my book, His Captive Asset, which sounds strange because on the surface these stories are dissimilar - one is a multidimensional time-travel fic with reincarnation vibes, the other is a BDSM spy novel. But I actually started this fic to see if I could write something contemporary, with guns, because that story is contemporary, with guns. </p>
<p>And I have big news! I submitted His Captive Asset to one of those interactive, choose-your-own-adventure story apps, and they're making a game out of it! I wanted to do something special because Amazon really messed up the book's debut and I cried, because you only get one shot to do well there. It's hard as f*ck to make any real money as an indie author (even selling the gaming license wasn't what you'd think and didn't include royalties) so when Amazon makes it even harder, it's heartbreaking. </p>
<p>Anyway, my hope is that it will feel a little bit like playing with a Petyr type of man. While I couldn't make the character too Petyr-esque, 1) because that would be plagiarism, and 2) because he didn't fit the role I wanted anyway -- the love interest definitely has some Petyr vibes because all my men have that cocky, one-step-ahead nature. I took a lot of inspo from James Bond and a smexy British friend of mine. But I did put a Game of Thrones Easter Egg in the story because I put GoT (and Labyrinth) Easter Eggs in almost everything. </p>
<p>My point -- if anyone wants the ebook I'm giving three away by buying &amp; sending them via Amazon. If you're interested, send me a message on Tumblr. I'm lionessfics47. I'll be giving away the ebook to the first three people who request one. It pretty much reads like a lot of my fics, so you know what you're getting into. </p>
<p>Shoutout to Inabetterworld because she steered me toward the bar Off the Record in Washington, D.C., so I actually took my friends from Dublin to this sexy bar when they came to visit the states, and I set a scene in the book there.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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